


Cannot be Contained in Words

by wallhaditcoming



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Mob, Angst with a Happy Ending, Family, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Pining, Possessive Erik, Protective Erik, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-06
Updated: 2013-09-06
Packaged: 2017-12-25 19:26:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 43,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/956780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wallhaditcoming/pseuds/wallhaditcoming
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crime syndicate head Erik Lehnsherr travels to London on business, where he meets oxford student Charles Xavier.  Their liaison spawns into a years long transatlantic affair, kept apart by Erik's work and Charles' studies,which Erik chronicles in photographs.  When distance ceases to be an issue after four long years, the overlap between Charles' past and Erik's work create a whole new set of complications.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [avictoriangirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/avictoriangirl/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Art for "Cannot be Contained in Words"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/949160) by [avictoriangirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/avictoriangirl/pseuds/avictoriangirl). 



> So many thanks to so many people. Firstly is, of course, the lovely Alisa, aka avictoriangirl whose art started all this. I am so lucky to have had the chance to work with someone so amazing and so talented, and very glad to have gained a new friend in the process. The mutual flailing and inspiration was a joy to experience, and I am so, so glad we ended up collaborating together (and that the end result feels like a true collaboration).
> 
> To my fellow RB'ers, especially ike, kage, pan, betty, and jeri, thank you for keeping me on task and for helping me to finish this monstrosity. To my intrepid cheerleaders, thank you for the support and motivation to keep going even when I thought I couldn't.
> 
> Thanks to Riley and Betty for edits, though I owe so much to Kat for sacrificing her sleep to make sure this was ready to be posted in time.
> 
>  
> 
> Warnings: The story itself contains violent imagery and torture, and while no violence is described directly, the aftermath of various incidences is enough to give you a pretty good idea of what went on. Additionally, child abuse in the past of one of the characters is fairly central to the plot, though never explicitly described. In fact, the only thing mentioned are the scars that result from it.

Erik was not a man who typically enjoyed the theatrical arts.  He’d lived in New York City long enough to learn that much about himself.  The traditional fare of musicals was too trite for his tastes.  Plays were too long and dull to be worth putting up with; their plots too easy to predict and their characters lacking depth, though whether that was due to the skill of the writers or the actors Erik knew not.  His mother, on the other hand, loved the theatre, and for all that the musicals made him roll his eyes and the plays had him checking his watch every five minutes, he found the entire exercise worth it to watch her watch the performances.  After growing up watching his mother deny herself in one of the theatre capitols of the world, Erik enjoyed treating her to her favorite pastime on a weekly basis.  For all that the theatre itself rarely did anything but bore him terribly, Erik delighted in both the excuse to spend time with her and the joy she took from what they saw.  On occasion, Erik was surprised to find that he had enjoyed one of their excursions.  This was, however, the exception and not the rule.

_Mousetrap_ had been well reviewed, and Erik’s business associate had canceled on him at the last minute, leaving him in London without plans.  He’d been wandering the streets absently when he found himself standing in front of the theatre and staring up at the name and the time of the performance.  Looking down at his watch, he shrugged his shoulders and entered.  If it ended up being unbearable, he could always slip out.  And at least it would give him something to do other than stare at his ceiling.  Besides, he could tell his mother about it.  The thought of her expression at hearing he had gone to the theatre of his own volition was enough to bring a smile to Erik’s lips.  When he saw the ticket attendant quail at the sight of it, he only grinned wider, showing all his teeth.

His expression and his wallet managed to secure him a center seat in an aisle that was nearly deserted.  If Erik was going to willingly subject himself to the theatre, he wasn’t going to do it surrounded by all and sundry.  In a further effort to avoid as much unnecessary human contact as possible, Erik went directly to his seat. Waiting in the house for the show to start would necessitate being near far too many people.  Erik found taking his chances on being passed by one or two people to be preferable to standing in the middle of a throng of idiots.

He busied himself pretending to read his program, though in reality most of his thoughts were on the meeting tomorrow.  Erik had built his empire from the ground up, learning as a young boy and teenager the various roles within a syndicate the only way a poor Jewish immigrant could - by working his way up through the ranks.  When a twenty-five-year-old Erik felt he understood enough, he set about trying to build his own empire from the ground up.  Erik valued respect and loyalty far too much to ever do any of his previous employers the discourtesy of betraying them.  Besides, Erik wanted to own what he did, every single piece.  Wanted it to be his work, something he could take pride in building.  Erik had started cutting out piece after piece of his territory and profit through determination and blood, slowly spreading his influence to other states.  Now here he was, finally beginning to make some headway internationally. It was the fact that it was all as a result of his own work that made this moment, eight years later, all the sweeter. 

Erik was brought abruptly out of his thoughts by the sound of someone clearing their throat beside him. He fought the urge to roll his eyes as he scooted as far back in his seat as he could without looking up.  He wasn’t going to stand for this idiot, whoever he was.

The feel of the heat of another body passing close to his had his eyes darting up automatically before returning to the program, only to jerk upwards again once he processed what he had seen.  Because surely what he thought he had seen had been a simple trick brought about by how quickly he had looked up.

It wasn't.

A round, firm, _glorious_ arse clad in a pair of well-fitting trousers was edging its way past his face.  Erik couldn’t do anything but stare.  It was all he could do to resist the temptation to reach out and touch.  Erik casually slid lower in his chair, pushing his long legs out further into the narrow space between his seat and the seat in front of him.  He knew that the additional obstacle would slow the man before him and prolong his chance to stare in a non-obvious way.  He briefly considered tripping his quarry while he still had the chance, giving him even more time to look, perhaps even the chance to touch,  but wasn’t sure he was willing to risk the scene this might cause.  Better to let the man pass unmolested, so that he might have the opportunity to look again.

Erik managed to hold back his sigh of disappointment as the man finally maneuvered past him, only to have to bite back a grin instead as the man dropped into the seat next to him.  If it were anyone else, Erik would have been irritated and shifted seats as soon as the lights went down, if not sooner.  As it was, it took an effort not to smile frighteningly wide.

Erik let his eyes slide over and felt his mouth go dry.  The stranger beside him was breathtaking.  He didn’t have time to register much more than ruby red lips and pale skin before the house lights dimmed and the stage lights rose, but the brief glance he had been afforded was enough to keep his attention fixed on his seatmate.  And then the play started in earnest and Erik found himself riveted.  Not by the actions on the stage, but on the man beside him.  He was deeply engaged in the world being created on the stage, and his face was so expressive that Erik found himself paying far more attention than he normally would have, simply to find out what had the man beside him so excited or surprised or delighted, depending upon the situation.  Erik couldn’t tear his gaze away for more than a few seconds at a time, and only then to check what circumstance was provoking such a reaction in his seat mate.

Erik found himself oddly disappointed when the lights came up for intermission, but soon changed his tune when he realized this meant he would have a chance to converse with the captivating stranger next to him.  Then he remembered that he actually didn’t have that much experience in engaging in conversations that didn’t consist of thinly veiled threats and violence.

He was still pondering how to breach the silence when there was the sound of pages fluttering before Erik felt a slight pressure on his foot.  He bent over and picked up his neighbor’s playbill from where it rested on his shoe before straightening and offering it to the man only to be struck dumb by the sight of him head on in proper lighting.

“Oh, thank you my friend!” the man  said, reaching forward to take the program from Erik’s hands, obscenely red lips parting in a warm, sincere smile that seemed to make his blue eyes sparkle, for all that they were partially obscured from view by a mop of chestnut colored hair.  “I just got so wrapped up in the play that I completely forgot it was there.”

Erik swallowed around his dry throat and seized the opportunity that had presented itself.  “You’re enjoying the performance, then?”

“Oh, yes,” the man next to him responded.  “The acting is superb, and I could never resist an Agatha Christie mystery.”

“She’s one of the few authors who always manages to surprise me,” Erik offered.

The man laughed.  “Yes!  I generally don’t enjoy mysteries, since most of the fun is taken away when you can guess how it’s going to end less than a hundred pages in.  But Ms. Christie always keeps me guessing until the end.  That’s part of why I came all the way down here to see this play — they won’t print the short story until the run is done, and I just couldn’t stand not knowing anymore.”

“Came down?” Erik inquired.

“Yes, I’m actually down in Oxford.  Working towards my PhD.” the stranger held out his hand.  “Charles Xavier.”

Erik reached out and clasped the offered hand, savoring the feeling of that smooth skin against his own.  “Erik Lehnsherr.”

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Erik,” Charles responded, and Erik didn’t think he was imagining the slight emphasis Charles put on the word “pleasure”.

Erik decided to take a small risk and reached his index and middle finger forward and slowly caressed the inside of Charles’s wrist, eyes fixed unerringly on Charles’s the entire time.  Charles let out an unsteady breath, but made no move to pull away.  Instead, he licked his lips.

Erik smiled.

“Believe me, Charles, the pleasure is all mine.”

* * *

They did stay for the remainder of the play at Charles’ instance, but given that Erik spent the majority of the second act with his hand splayed wide on one of Charles’ distracting thighs, unable to resist the temptation of squeezing that firmly defined flesh beneath his hand occasionally, they didn’t stay for the curtain call.

Erik kept a hand in the small of Charles’ back as he guided him out of the theatre, ostensibly to keep them from losing each other in the press of the crowd of people exiting the theatre, but in reality he was unwilling to relinquish the warmth of Charles’ skin under his palm.  He felt like the heat was seeping into him from the point of contact between them, settling just below his skin and making it feel too tight.  He had no time to pay any mind to propriety.  All his self-control was centered on trying to stem the tide of his arousal enough so that he could continue the journey to his hotel, which had somehow grown into an epic voyage.  He held his coat strategically, knowing that willing away his arousal entirely was a lost cause.

Charles leaned up, putting his mouth at the level of Erik’s ear.  “Where,” he said, his voice low and rough with a need that matched Erik’s own, “the _bloody fuck_ is your hotel.  Because so help me god, if we don’t get there soon, I’m going to pull you into the next dark alley and…”

His words cut off in a small yelp of surprise as Erik grabbed him roughly by the arm and yanked him into the unlit side-street and slammed him up against the wall, claiming those distracting lips in a bruising kiss.  They felt and tasted even better than they looked, and then Charles fucking moaned into the kiss and Erik took advantage of the opportunity to slip his tongue into Charles’ mouth.

Erik pulled back with a nip to Charles’ bottom lip, allowing himself a sharp grin at the sight of Charles now: disheveled, panting hard, lips swollen and somehow even more red than they had been before, the skin under his freckles stained a fetching pink and the blue of his iris the merest edging around his blow-wide pupils.

“…And?” Erik said, leaning in close again to breathe the word into Charles’ ear before running his tongue along the lobe, savoring the way Charles shuddered beneath him.  “Here I am, in this dark alley.  What are you going to do with me, Mr. Xavier?” Erik asked, sucking the lobe of Charles’ ear into his mouth and nipping lightly as he slid a thigh between Charles’ legs.

Charles bucked up against him sharply, swearing as he did so while his hands fisted even tighter in the lapels of Erik’s jacket, dragging him forward.  “ _Erik”_ he hissed sharply.

Erik smirked as he turned his attention lower, trailing open-mouthed kisses down the long, pale column of Charles’ throat, hands griping tightly at Charles’ hip as he slowly rocked forward against the hardness against his thigh, bringing his own erection against Charles’ thigh in the process, and he let out a long, low groan into Charles’ neck at the delicious pressure, rocking forward again instinctively in search of more.

It would have ended there, Erik rutting mindlessly against Charles thigh in a dark alley until he spent himself inside his suit.  Perhaps he would been treated to the feel of Charles’ release damp against his thigh or Erik would have ruined his suit further, falling to his knees in order to bring the man he had pinned to the wall the same pleasure, the taste of Charles heavy on his tongue as they parted.  But Charles hands uncurled and he brought his palms up flat against Erik’s chest before shoving sharply, pushing Erik back just far enough that there was an inch of space between their bodies.

Erik pulled back, staring down at Charles with confusion even as the space helped him to think more clearly.

“Bed,” Charles hissed sharply.  “ _Now_.  Because so help me god, if I miss the chance to have _that_ ,” he said, glancing down at Erik’s crotch meaningfully, “inside me…”

Erik swore and just barely checked the impulse to surge forward and claim Charles’ lips again, managing to rock forward on his heels instead.  He fisted his hands tightly and rested his forehead against Charles’, unwilling to break away completely as they both panted heavily, trying to bring themselves under some sort of control.

“You _can’t”_ Erik gritted out, “ _say_ things like that.  Not if you want me to make it back to the hotel.”

Charles stared back up at him, “Funny,” he panted out, a _filthy_ grin working its way onto his face, “here I thought I was providing you with motivation.”  And then his eyes darted down to Erik’s crotch again and he _licked his lips_

Erik bit out a curse before reaching forward and seizing Charles by his bicep (which was surprisingly defined for an academic, _fuck_ ) and dragging him out of the alley, Charles laughing as he was tugged along behind Erik.  Erik muttered promises of vengeance under his breath in his native German as they traveled the seemingly endless handful of blocks between them and the hotel.  When Charles heard him, he stopped laughing, letting out a strangled exhale instead.  Erik just muttered louder, making note of the response for when they made it to the hotel.  Which had better be _any fucking minute now_ or he wasn’t going to be held responsible for his actions.

They made it to the hotel, _finally_ , and Erik steered them straight for the stairs, not having the patience to wait for the elevator or trusting himself to keep his hands off Charles in an enclosed, at least temporarily private place.  He pushed Charles in front of him, hissing “third floor, room 6” as he did so before enjoying the perfect torture that was watching that divine arse in front of him for two flights of stairs.

Charles stood aside when he reached the door to Erik’s room, only to wrap his arms around Erik’s waist and press himself up against Erik’s back. His breath was hot against Erik’s neck before was a line of wet heat as Charles licked the skin.  Erik almost dropped his keys, and nearly did it again when the hand Charles had around his waist began to drift lower, it’s destination clear.  He finally managed to get the key turned the right way around and shoved it into the lock, turning it quickly with a flick of his wrist and pushing the door open just as Charles’ hand came to rest on the zipper of his fly.

As soon as Erik stumbled into the room, he spun around, closing the door and pinning Charles against it in the same move.  Charles stared up at him before reaching behind himself with a wicked smirk, the lock making and audible “click” as he slid it firmly back into place.  Erik captured his lips in a bruising kiss as his hands flew up to Charles’ shoulders, pushing his jacket off him and allowing it to fall to the floor, progress slightly impeded as Charles busied himself with Erik’s tie.  Erik managed to liberate Charles of his tie and undo a handful of buttons on his shirt and Charles freed Erik of his own jacket before they couldn’t take any more.  Erik slid his hands back from where they had been resting on Charles’ hips until they cupped that perfect arse and heaved, pulling Charles up until the man wrapped his legs around Erik’s waist.  Kissing desperately and kneading that firm flesh that was finally in his hands, he walked them into the room before dropping Charles onto the bed.  He stood there, panting heavily, taking a moment to simply savor the sight of his prize spread out on his sheets.

Still looking his fill, Erik unfastened the button on his pants with a quickly flick of his wrist, then tugged down his zipper and pulled his underwear out of the way, freeing his cock from the confines of his trousers, stroking slowly as he stared down at Charles.  Charles’ chest was rising and falling rapidly as his unbelievably blue eyes stared up, dark with arousal, calling attention to his red and swollen lips when he ran his tongue over them once again.  The bulge in his trousers was too much temptation for Erik to resist, and he sank down to his knees, undoing Charles’ flies with deft fingers before pulling out his cock.

It was already dark with arousal, and Erik’s couldn’t resist giving it a few languid strokes, loving the feel and sight of the foreskin sliding up and down, revealing the damp head of Charles’ cock fully, so different from his own circumcised dick.  It was always a source of interest, the differences, for all that most of the cocks he’d seen had been uncircumcised.  The noises Charles made, however, were completely new, and Erik wanted more of them.

He gripped Charles by the hips, pulling him closer.  “I want to taste you,” he said, looking up from Charles’ mesmerizing cock to meet his equally entrancing eyes.

“God, _yes,”_ Charles hissed out, hands fisting tightly in the bed sheets as Erik swallowed his cock slowly, savoring, working his way down.

The noises were even better than he imagined, and with Charles on edge as he was, it didn’t take more than minute before Erik felt a sharp tug on his hair, Charles’ wordless warning that he was close.  Erik ignored it, taking as much of Charles into his mouth as he could and swallowing as Charles came with a strangled groan.

Erik pulled off and stood up, allowing himself a brief moment to stare down at an absolutely wrecked Charles spread out bonelessly.  But then Erik’s own arousal made it impossible to just stand and watch, and so he found himself rolling Charles over onto his front, pulling his hips up and his legs together as Erik fumbled for the lotion he had stashed in a bedside drawer, coating the inside of Charles’ thighs and his own cock thoroughly.  Charles, realizing what Erik intended, held his legs tightly together, twisted around so his blue eyes were starting at Erik, dazed, as Erik pushed himself in between those perfect muscular thighs with a groan.  He bent forward over Charles, thrusting harder and faster, though he was careful to avoid brushing against Charles’ cock and balls, knowing they would still be sensitive.  He bit down on Charles’ clothed shoulder as he finally came between his thighs, knuckles going briefly white in their grip on Charles’ hips before he slumped forward, his limbs refusing to cooperate in the wake of his release.

Erik eventually gathered himself enough to roll off Charles, knowing that the man couldn’t be comfortable bearing his weight.  He stared at the ceiling above his bed.   After a time, he began to laugh, unable to help himself.

"What?" Charles asked, still face down on the bed, though as he said it he rolled over before eyeing Erik from the corner of his eye.

"It's just..." Erik said, unable to keep himself from snorting, "I suppose it's called 'Oxford Style' for a reason," he said at last, smirking in Charles' general direction.

Charles let out an indignant huff before smacking Erik hard on the shoulder while Erik couldn't stop snickering.

"You are _unbelievable_ ,” Charles groused, smacking Erik again, this time a little harder.

Erik rolled over, pinning Charles’ hands to the bed and smirking down at him.  “You should take it as a compliment.  Why, was it not good for you?” he asked, glancing down at Charles’ now-limp cock pointedly.

For all that the question was mostly in jest, there was an edge of worry.  Erik was many things, but he strived not to be selfish in bed, and the thought of Charles not enjoying himself disturbed Erik far more than it should have.

Charles somehow seemed to sense this and rolled his eyes before leaning up and capturing Erik’s lips in a slow, probing kiss.  “Yes, it was good for me, you ridiculous man.  Though I _am_ put off that we managed to make it all the way back here and I _still_ haven’t had your cock in me.  It seems practically criminal.”

Erik had to kiss him again at that.  There really was no choice in the matter.  When he felt something wet and tacky against his trousers, he glanced down and cursed himself a fool.  Charles was still a mess, and for all it was a good look on him, he couldn’t be comfortable. 

“Hold that thought,” he whispered, claiming one last kiss, ending with a tug to Charles’ lower lip before releasing his hold on Charles’ arms and pushing himself up on to somewhat unsteady legs. 

His footing grew more sure as he made his way to the attached bathroom, grabbing a washcloth and wetting it.  He quickly wiped himself down before tucking his cock back into his pants.  Rinsing off the cloth, he risked a glance up in the mirror and couldn’t help but stare.

He looked…well-fucked.  His hair was a mess, his normally thin lips were swollen slightly, but most damning of all was the grin on his face and the absence of the tension in his shoulders that had been there as long as Erik could remember.  He shook his head, taking a moment to use a wet hand to brush his hair out of his face before returning to where Charles was still splayed out on the bed.

Erik crouched over him again, rubbing the wet cloth gently over Charles’ skin, wiping away the lotion and the evidence of his own release.

“Really Erik, that’s very kind of you, but I can do it myself.”

“I know you can,” Erik responded, still rasping the cloth over Charles’ skin.  “But I doubt I’d ever pass up on a chance to get my hands on your thighs.  Or any piece of you, really.”

Charles propped himself up on his elbows, looking at Erik consideringly.  “You told me to hold that thought,” he said.

“Yes,” Erik said simply, reluctantly admitting to himself that Charles skin was most definitely clean, and to keep running the cloth over his skin at this point would be skirting the edges of what was socially acceptable in situations such as theirs (socially unacceptable as the situation itself was considered).  “I’d be willing to wait things out, as it were, until we were ready again.  Wouldn’t want to engage in anything criminal,” he offered with a sharp smile.  “Well, anything _else_ criminal.  Perhaps we could continue our conversation from intermission while we waited?”

They’d had a wonderful discussion at the theatre while waiting for the play to resume which proved to establish their mutual interest.  Charles had babbled about his work in a way that Erik found endearing.  Charles’ enthusiasm for his studies was apparent, as was his intellect, and the way he had eventually stuttered to an embarrassed stop was perhaps Erik’s favorite part of all.  Erik had taken the reins of the conversation away from the flustered man, using Charles’ comment about Agatha Christie to launch them both into a spirited discussion about books, debating the merits of different authors and different novels.  Erik, for all he had grown up poor, had always had the library and had always had his books.  In the social circles he typically moved in, to find someone as well-versed in literature as he was rare.  To find someone willing to disagree with him and debate a point was even more so.

He desperately wanted to know what Charles’ opinions were on other matters.  Any other matters, all other matters.  Their conversation had been the intellectual high point of his year so far, and debating with Charles had been a challenge.  One that they had both enjoyed.

Finally getting his hands on that perfect arse would merely be the icing on the already incredibly attractive cake.  Not that Erik would object to icing alone, but still…

Charles looked distinctly interested, but as he sat up further, in an attempt to bring them face-to-face, or so Erik assumed, his eyes flickered to something behind Erik and he swore.  Erik jerked his head around to look, hand automatically reaching for one of the knives he always kept secreted about his person, briefly thankful that he and Charles hadn’t done much more than shove their pants down for all he was irked he hadn’t had the chance to properly explore all that smooth, pale skin.   Nothing was amiss, however.  All Erik could see was the hotel nightstand, and the lamp, clock, and lotion resting atop it.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Charles swore, scrambling upright and grabbing his pants, pulling them up and buckling his belt quickly.  “Erik, please believe me when I say I would love nothing more than to do just that, but if I don’t run I’m going to miss the last train back, and I have an early morning class I can’t afford to miss.  I could…you said you were in town on business.  How long are you here?” Charles asked.  “I have a class late tomorrow afternoon, and a meeting on the early side the day after, so I can’t come down, but…”

“I could come down, if that makes things easier,” Erik said, cutting Charles off.

“Really?” Charles asked, expression lighting up.  “I mean, Oxford is a bit of a trek, but…in that case, are you free tomorrow evening?”

“Yes,” Erik said at once.  The dinner could be rescheduled.  A lunch made more sense logistically anyway.

Charles beamed and scribbled an address down on a piece of hotel stationary, pressing it into Erik’s hand before pressing a kiss to Erik lips.  Erik watched him go, enjoying the view immensely when Charles bent over to retrieve his jacket and tie, breaking into a sharp bark of laughter when Charles caught him looking and said “Oh _honestly_ ,” with a roll of his eyes.  Erik surged forward, trapping Charles against the door for one last kiss, pulling away only when Charles shoved at his shoulders.

“Tomorrow,” Charles told him, pulling open the door.

“Tomorrow,” Erik vowed.

He closed the door only after Charles had completely vanished from sight.  He looked down at the piece of paper in his hand and smiled softly .  Tomorrow.

* * *

 

The meeting in the morning went well, as did the lunch that afternoon.  Erik knew he wasn’t the only one his potential business partners had had this conversation with, but he’d been doing this long enough to know that they are most definitely interested.  The fact that rescheduling his dinner meeting came off as him playing aloof and disinterested, as well as irritated about the lack of respect shown the night before, was merely an added bonus.  Business wrapped up, Erik returned to his hotel and packed an overnight bag, willing to risk being presumptuous over being unprepared.  A change of clothes, though his nicer suits would not travel well.  A pair of dark trousers and a simple button up that could stand up well to being rumpled, as well as an undershirt, fresh underwear, and socks would do.  He would just have to ensure he had enough time to change into something more business appropriate before his meetings the next day.  Presentation was important during these early stages. 

As he was transferring items from one bag to another (not yet having found the time to unpack), his eyes fell on his camera bag.  After a long moment of consideration, he transferred it to his overnight bag as well.

His thoughts went momentarily to the lotion still on his nightstand as he was packing his toiletries, and he paused, before shaking his head no.  If he was going to plan ahead, he could do much better than lotion.

 He popped into a pharmacy on the way to the train station and purchased a container of Vaseline.  He was sure that even if Charles didn’t have something, there were shops in Oxford. But he also knew that when he was actually in Charles’ presence he wasn’t going to want to waste any time.

Erik bit his lip as he studied the train schedule at Paddington station.  He and Charles had never agreed on a specific time to meet.  Shrugging to himself, Erik purchased tickets for the next train that he wouldn’t have to run for.  He could take his time traveling to Charles’ address, and if the man himself wasn’t home when he finally arrived, Erik would simply spend his time exploring the city for a few hours before returning.  He was certain there was plenty for a man to do in Oxford, for all he normally hated playing the tourist.

Erik settled down on the train and tried to lose himself in the familiar words of _The Once and Future King_ to ignore the anticipation building low in his gut.

Even the familiar well-loved words were not enough to take Erik out of his head.  After rereading the same sentence for the third time, he shut his book with a heavy sigh.  Clearly reading would not be a suitable diversion.  He settled instead for staring out the window at the countryside flying by and attempted to distract himself by thinking of other things.  When that failed, he tried to empty his mind entirely. 

The train finally pulled into the station, and Erik departed with much less grace in his haste than he cared to think about.  A glance at his watch while he was on the platform had a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.  For all that the train ride had felt unending, it had done the job, and the timing had worked out far better than he could have anticipated.  It was just past five, and while there was a chance that this would still qualify as “afternoon”, Erik was confident that he wouldn’t have long to wait for Charles now that he was here.  He tried to take his time getting to the address but he couldn’t quite curb his pace. He found himself standing outside the door with the appropriate numbers on the appropriate street only ten minutes later, instead of the fifteen he had budgeted despite having gotten turned around twice on the way over. There was nothing to do for it now though. Taking a deep breath, he pressed the buzzer on the door and waited, anticipation coiling low in his gut.

There was a click, and Erik pulled the door open fighting a frown.  This was far from secure.  Charles’ hadn’t even done a cursory check to see who was waiting on the other side before giving the person access to his home.  Putting aside his misgivings, Erik made his way up the stairs to Charles’ flat on the second floor.  He couldn’t help eyeing the lock on Charles’ door speculatively.  That, at least, was passible.  Cursory inspection completed, he brought his knuckles up against the door, knocking firmly.

There was noise on the other side of the door and the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching, and then a pause as the light behind the peephole was blocked out.  There was the sound of a chain being undone and then the unmistakable sound of a bolt being turned before the door in front of him was pulled inwards, revealing the occupant of the room.

Charles’ hair was slightly damp, clinging to his forehead, his blue eyes warm as he broke into a smile.  He wore a simple white button-up with the sleeves rolled up, exposing his forearms and the freckles that had been hidden there.

“Erik!” he said, warm delight coloring his tone, for all his posture was slightly awkward, as if he didn’t quite know what to do with himself under the circumstances.  The nervous bite to his lip was enough to snap what remained of Erik’s tenuous control.

Erik took one long stride through the doorway, dropping his bag on the ground and slamming the door shut with his foot as he slid one hand around Charles’s waist and wove his fingers though the wet strands of Charles’ hair with the other.  “Charles,” he purred in response practically against Charles lips.  He paused then, giving Charles the chance to pull away if he so chose.

Palms pressed against Erik’s shoulder that shoved him sharply had Erik’s hand halfway to his knives in a move as automatic as breathing.  But the feeling of the wall against his back and Charles against his front and the lips now pressed against his own had his hand falling from the hilt and wrapping back around Charles’ waist as he returned the kiss with enthusiasm.

“A little warning the next time, hmm?” Erik asked when he pulled back, brushing Charles’ hair back into something resembling order.

“Turnabout is fair play,” Charles said with a smirk as he pulled back, and Erik was pleased to see all the awkwardness had disappeared.  Good.

Erik hid his smile as he straightened his blazer.  Charles hadn’t contradicted him.  There would be a next time, then.

“What’s on the agenda for the evening?” he asked once he felt he was back in order.

Charles’ smirked, his gaze zeroing in on Erik’s crotch and Erik smirked, leaning forward to land a quick swat on Charles’ rear.

“I haven’t forgotten,” Erik told him, “but you know that wasn’t what I meant.  And quite frankly Charles, once we start heading down that road there will be no detours for quite a long stretch if I have my way.  So if there was anything else you had planned, we’d best do that first.”

“Dinner then,” Charles said decisively.  “I’ll need to keep my stamina up, if you intend to ‘have your way’,” he offered the last with a smirk.

“Minx,” Erik told him, knowing his voice was filled with the heat seeing Charles had awakened in him, that the quick kiss hello and Charles’ invitation for Erik to have his way with him had not helped to quell in the least.

Charles’ lips curled into a delightfully sinful smirk.  “I never claimed otherwise.  I’ll just take this,” he said bending down to grab Erik’s bag, “and put it in the bedroom, and then I’ll go and grab my coat.”

Erik bit back a curse.  Charles had mentioned his bedroom on purpose.  Erik was sure of it.  Minx was not a strong enough word for what Charles was.

He reappeared a moment later, a blue jumper pulled over his shirt and a coat the color of canvass thrown over one arm and the smirk on his face replaced with a genuine looking smile.  Erik was baffled to discover that he wasn’t disappointed.  Quite frankly, he didn’t know which he preferred.

“Shall we?” Erik asked, pulling open the door for Charles and gesturing him out to prevent any further distractions.

“We shall,” Charles returned with a grin as he pulled his coat on.  “Thank you,” he told Erik as he passed through the door.

“My pleasure,” Erik responded as he walked out after Charles, pulling the door closed behind him.

“Where are we going?” Erik asked as Charles locked the door.

“Ah,” Charles said, grinning brightly as he turned around, pocketing his key.  “Well, that depends.  Have you, by any chance, read _The Lord of the Rings_?”

Charles’ hopeful expression made it clear what he wanted the answer to be, and Erik couldn’t help but feel guilty for having to quash those hopes.

“I have, but I didn’t find it particularly engaging,” Erik said, and watched Charles’ face fall with mounting horror.  “Fantasy isn’t usually my genre, though there are occasionally exceptions,” he told Charles as they made their way down the stairs.  “ _The Lord of the Rings_ just wasn’t one of them,” he said with a shrug.

“Ah,” Charles said, with a smile that was significantly less bright than it had been before.  “Were any of C.S. Lewis’ books an exception?” Charles asked as Erik held the door to Charles’ building open for him.

Erik couldn’t help his derisive snort.  “No.  The heavy-handed Christian allegory was too much for me to tolerate for long.”

“You’re Jewish,” Charles said, an expression of horror on his face.  “Of course you are.  I mean,” his eyes drifted down to Erik’s crotch again.

Erik froze where he stood, staring at Charles. 

“Is that a problem?” he asked, and he knew his tone was dangerously cold.

It should have been.  He _felt_ dangerous.  He _was_ dangerous, for all the thought of harming Charles left him feeling faintly ill.  Still, there was no way he would debase himself enough to pant after an anti-Semitic, regardless of how blue his eyes were.

“Oh, my friend, no,” Charles said, his features softening as he reached out and took Erik’s hand in his own, squeezing it.  “Not at all.  I was just feeling like a terrible cad for not having put the pieces together sooner.  It should have occurred to me.  Do you keep kosher?  I’m not sure I know of anywhere around here that does, but I’m sure we could find something,” he said, worrying his lip between his teeth, a crease forming between his brows.

Erik felt himself softening again, a warm smile tugging at the corner of his lips.  “Don’t worry yourself over nothing, Charles.  I only keep kosher when I’m at my mother’s house.  And given that she’s on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean, I’m going to enjoy eating whatever pleases me while I’m here.  And you still haven’t told me what that’s going to be,” Erik ribbed him gently.

Charles blushed.  “Well, I was thinking I would take you to The Eagle and Child.  But if you aren’t a fan of any of the Inklings, then I think you might find it a little too touristy to suit your tastes,” he told Erik.

Erik promptly wanted to smack himself in the head.  He’d thought they’d simply be continuing their conversation from the night before, but in hindsight now it was obvious what Charles had been trying to do.  It was equally obvious that Charles was a fan of the Inklings himself, and had been looking forward to patronizing the same pub where the literary group had met.

“Tell you what,” Erik said, squeezing Charles’ hand where it was still clasped in his own, “Let’s go to The Eagle and Child.”

“It’s fine, Erik,” Charles said with a smile.  “We’ll go somewhere else.  There’s no real point if you aren’t a fan of the authors.”

“On the contrary,” Erik said, smiling his sharpest smile.  “I can’t imagine anything more enjoyable than tearing the authors in question to shreds in the very place where they used to gather together.”

Charles stared up at him before slowly grinning in turn.  “Erik, these authors are very dear to me.  You know I won’t be able to allow such an assault to go unaddressed.”

“Then it looks like we’re in for another long debate,” Erik said, his sharp smile morphing into something more genuine.

“Come on,” Charles said, pulling his hand away as he began walking, the smile on his face warm and genuine.  “The pub is this way.”

Erik followed, tucking his hands into his pockets so that he could be sure to avoid giving in to the temptation to reach out and tug Charles’ hand back into his own.

* * *

 

Erik had Charles on his back that night, eyes fixed intently on Charles' blue eyes blown wide as Erik pounded into him, his obscenely red mouth parted around even more obscene moans.  It was the most gorgeous thing Erik had ever seen, and he was certain to tell Charles so.

He whispered the words into Charles’ temple as he pulled the man tight up against his chest when Charles had returned from cleaning himself up in the bathroom, having waved off Erik’s offers of help.

The sleepy smile Charles flashed him before dozing off in the cradle of his arms took his breath away.

He was treated to the same breathtaking sight when he woke up the next morning.  Erik couldn’t resist brushing the hair out of Charles’ face and taking a moment to stare down at his features relaxed in sleep.  When he realized what he was doing, Erik pulled back sharply.  Carefully disentangling himself from Charles, Erik pushed himself over to the edge of the bed and slid out from under the covers, being careful to let as little of the heat out as possible.  He scrubbed at his face, taking a deep breath.  He needed to clear his head.

When he emerged from the shower, towel wrapped around his waist, he felt marginally more clearheaded, mind focused on the business for the upcoming day.  This arms contract was important.  It was a way for Erik to put the Lehnsherr name on the international map.  And, a small part of him whispered seductively, if he managed to secure this deal, he would also secure himself the opportunity for business trips back to England for years to come.  He was going to seal this deal, even if it killed someone.

He dressed quickly and quietly in the spare change of clothes he had brought in his overnight bag, and when he went to check his appearance in the mirror over Charles’ dresser, he spotted a familiar small piece of yellow paper sitting atop it, lips quirking into a smile as he saw the ticket stub from the play…God, had it only been the day before yesterday?  Surely it had been longer.

But time had a tendency to run oddly around Charles, the hours of the night before spent walking around Oxford and playing a game of chess in Charles’ flat before playing another sort of game entirely in his bed had seemed to last forever, for all that hours at a time could pass without Erik being truly aware of it.

Erik checked the clock and grimaced.  If he was going to change into something proper before his meeting, which he would have to do if he wanted things to go his way - presentation was paramount in his line of work-he’d have to go now.  He made his way over to the bed, carefully dodging articles of clothing shed the night before, and perched on the edge of the bed, turning to face Charles’ sleeping form, curled around where Erik was perched on the edge of the bed.

“Charles,” he said, reaching out to place an arm on Charles shoulder, not shaking yet but ready to do so if it became necessary.

It didn’t.  Charles’ brow furrowed before his eyes opened, blinking slowly.  He looked up at Erik, confused, before his features smoothed out, a warm, slow smile working its way across his face.

Pointedly ignoring the tightness in his chest, Erik instead focused on communicating, knowing he was running out of time to impart the information he had to.

“I have to go,” Erik told him, hand still resting on Charles’ shoulder.  “But I didn’t want to sneak out without saying goodbye.”

“How gentlemanly of you,” Charles said, voice still groggy with sleep.  “But does it have to be goodbye?” he stared up at Erik through half-lidded eyes.  “How long are you here?”

“A week,” Erik said in response, running his hand down Charles’ arm.  “Six days, now.”

Charles sat up sharply, sheet falling down and bunching around his hips, revealing a sliver of pale skin from where his t-shirt had ridden up in the night.  “Six days?  That’s all?”

“If all goes well…” Erik said cautiously, “If everything works out as I hope it will, this will be the first trip of many.  But for that to happen…”

“You need to leave now,” Charles said with a sigh.  He rubbed a hand through his hair.  “Can you come back this afternoon?  I’m done with classes at 2, so really any time after that…”

“Eager, are we?” Erik asked, but leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Charles’ lips to take the sting out of it, to let Charles know that he was just as eager to continue this, whatever it was, as Charles.

“If I only have six days, I intend to make the most of them,” Charles murmured against Erik’s lips in response.

“In that case, I may as well leave the bag and yesterday’s clothes here, since I’ll be back for them later today,” Erik told him, reluctantly dragging himself away before the kiss could have the chance to mutate into anything else.

Charles pouted briefly, which was so ridiculous that it made Erik laugh, and Charles’ rueful chuckle joined him shortly thereafter.  Erik caught sight of the clock on Charles’ bedside and heaved a sigh.

“You have to go?”

“I do,” Erik responded.

“Well, I wish you the best of luck,” Charles said, leaning forward to press one last chaste kiss to his lips.

“Go back to bed,” Erik murmured when Charles pulled away and yawned.  “I’ll be back before you can miss me.”

Charles settled back down against his pillows, a soft smile on his face.  “Good,” he said, voice all but a soft exhale as sleep reached out to claim him once again.

Erik watched his breathing even out before he managed to tear himself away.  He had to run to the train station and managed to jump on mere seconds before the all-aboard.  Still, he thought, examining the small yellow stub of pilfered paper in his hands as the train pulled out of the station, it had been more than worth it.

* * *

 

Erik returned at just before three, and wasted no time on making his way back to Charles’ flat. 

“It’s open!” a voice that was far too familiar for how long Erik had really known its owner called.

He turned the knob with a frown on his face.  Charles was far too unconcerned with his own safety.  Erik took care to examine the locks briefly from the inside as he made sure to do them all up behind him. He noted with satisfaction that they all looked to be of good quality, including the door chain which was all too often flimsy and easy to break, in order to force entry.  Erik had experience with such things. 

Still though, what good would all those locks do if he wasn’t _using_ them?

“You really should be more careful,” Erik called over his shoulder as hung his coat on Charles’ coat rack, pulling off his hat and placing it neatly atop his coat.  “Leaving your door unlocked like that is a bad idea, regardless of the neighborhood.”

Charles was sprawled out on his couch wearing the same shirt he had when they’d gone out the night before, sleeves rolled up again and the first button of his collar undone, showing just a hint of the mark Erik had sucked into his skin the night before.  His legs were clad in dark trousers, and his hair was rumpled, as if it had once been neat but had a hand run through it absentmindedly many times since it had last been combed.  In one hand he held a stack of papers, and the other was in the process of tucking a pencil behind his ear.

“You sound like my father,” Charles said with a roll of his eyes and a fond grin, blue eyes darting away from the pages in front of him to meet Erik’s own, “Let me tell you what I always tell him.  Firstly, you worry too much.”

“You don’t worry enough,” Erik retorted, making his way into the living room and staring down at Charles’ eyebrow raised in challenge.

Charles rolled his eyes again, his expression a combination of amused exasperation and fondness.  “And secondly, I can take care of myself.  Now, stop brooding and sit down,” he ordered, gesturing Erik over to the chair positioned caddy-corner to where he was currently sprawled as he buried his nose back in the pages in his hands.  “I need to finish this article before I do anything else, and I can’t do that with you hovering over me.”  He peeked out from behind the stack of papers he was holding, teeth fixed in his lip as they so often were.  “This shouldn’t take more than an hour, and then I’m all yours.  That’s not a problem, is it?”

Erik rolled his eyes and walked over to where Charles was sprawled, bending down to give him a brief kiss.  “I think I can occupy myself for an hour, Charles.  Go on and read.  I wouldn’t want to be responsible for any academic failings.  Besides, the sooner you start, the sooner you’ll be done.”

Charles laughed before shoving him lightly.  “Shoo.  There’s no way I’ll be able to finish if you’re distracting me.  Back to the chair with you.”

Erik grinned, but stepped back, hands held up in mock surrender.  “Let me just grab my bag, and then I’ll be good.”

Charles’ disbelieving scoff had Erik laughing as he made his way to the bedroom.  His bag was still lying where he had left it that morning. As he pulled out his book he paused, considering, before eventually taking his camera out of his bag as well.  Materials collected, he made his way back into the living room and settled down in the chair Charles had indicated. Setting his book on his thighs, he opened it to the correct page, and began to read.

At the end of a chapter, Erik glanced up and immediately felt his mouth go dry.  Wordlessly, not wanting to disturb the moment, he reached down and grabbed the camera at his feet. Focusing in on Charles with the viewfinder, he made the minute adjustments he felt necessary as quietly as possible before waiting.

He didn’t have to wait long.  As soon as Charles leaned over to the nearby table, reaching for his tea, Erik snapped the picture.  Charles looked up curiously after he heard the click of the shutter as he took a sip of tea, blushing slightly when he saw what Erik was doing.  The lack of surprise was understandable, given he’d told Charles he was a photographer when the graduate student had asked after his work.  Erik had gone on a sincere rant about the difficulty of photographing human subject because of their reaction to the lens.  Yet Charles did nothing beyond smiling at him before placing the tea back on the table and putting the article behind his head as he sunk further down into the couch.

“That’s as much as I’ll be able to accomplish today, I think.  Now,” he said, smiling widely, “put that down and come over here,” he said, gesturing for Erik.

Erik took one more photo before complying, hiding the wide grin on his face by burying it against Charles’ skin.

* * *

 

Twice more Erik saw Charles gasping on his back and felt him clenching around where Erik was buried deep inside him.  Once when Charles invited Erik back to his flat at Oxford, and then again when Erik had Charles back to his hotel.  Interspersed between these nights of passion were meals together and outings to galleries and games of chess and drinks together.  With every day Erik found himself craving Charles more.  Not just his body, but his laugh, his smile, his conversation, his wit.  And yet both their schedules were such that they were never able to sleep together in anything more than the euphemistic sense again.

Erik left England that first time with only one memory of waking up with Charles in his arms, yet that one memory was more than enough to haunt him.

Regardless of anything else Erik had been up to, his initial goal had met with success.  He’d won the business contract that had sent him across the ocean in the first place, and would be returning to England in two weeks time with the first of the weapons. 

Erik spent those two weeks before his return to England in a mood that had his underlings…nervous. 

It was goddamned unnerving to see him this cheerful, his second in command, Raven, informed him. They were all just waiting for him to snap or to discover the sort of bloodshed it was that had put him in such a good mood.  Erik looked up from where he was organizing the first of what promised to be the first of many shipments of arms and smiled his widest, sharpest, most unnerving grin in response and couldn’t help barking out a laugh at the way she practically tripped over her feet to get out of his office.

Yet every night when he went home at the end of the day, and saw his still empty apartment, every morning when he woke up alone in his bed, his arms empty, something inside him cried out in protest.  For all that he was unusually cheerful during the day, the aching in his chest made nights another matter entirely.

The next time he returned to England, he didn’t even bother booking a hotel room.  He had the money for a last minute booking if he needed it, but if he had his way, he wouldn't.  Thankfully he and Charles were of a similar mind on that front.  Fifteen new memories of Charles in his arms and a roll of film later, it was time to return.

If leaving England when he knew he’d be back less than two weeks later was difficult, Erik doesn’t have the words to describe what it was like the second time, not knowing when business would bring him back to the UK.

Erik spent the entire flight planning business strategies to implement upon his return, aware that the expression on his face was making the passengers around him nervous and not caring.

When he returned to New York again, his underlings were once again terrified, but this time for an entirely different reason.  He had returned in what Raven described as “an unholy, murderous rage”.  Erik wasn’t particularly disinclined to disagree, nor was he particularly inclined to examine the reason that might be the case.

Instead, he threw himself headlong into his work.  And, in the wake of a particularly unpleasant conversation at a bar, consisting of one of the patrons calling Erik a “fucking fairy heeb”, he threw his organization headlong into a war with the Italians.

They, Erik maintained the two times anyone had found the courage to question him about it, had started it.  Erik had simply ended it for them.

When the dust settled several weeks later, Erik had a new scar, new territory, newly earned wary respect, a whole host of new enemies, and one less family of Roman-Catholic bigoted idiots to worry about.

Erik woke up the morning after the “war” was over and stared up at his ceiling at a loss.  He honestly had no idea what to do with himself.  Raven had given him stern orders the day before during the last of the clean-up to keep to himself for the next few days, in order to let things cool a little on the business front.  She’d suggested he use the time to get his head on straight.

Erik would gladly have followed her advice, but he wasn’t even certain his head was crooked, and if it was, he had no idea how to go about setting it to rights.  He had been feeling a bit out of sorts lately, it was true, but he was perfectly willing to chalk that up to jet-lag and then work-related stress.  A few nights of good sleep would set everything to rights he was sure.

Good sleep had been remarkably hard to come by of late.

Pushing the thought and memories of blue eyes aside, Erik heaved himself up out of bed.  He crossed the vast expanse of his room between his bed and his dresser, feet cold on the chilly hardwood floor.  Now that he finally had some free time, he could develop the photos he’d taken on his trip abroad.

Knowing he was going to be dealing with chemicals, Erik ignored his usual tailored clothes in favor of an old dark sweater--stretched out and on the verge of fraying in some places-- and a pair of old, well-worn jeans.  Grabbing his camera he made his way to the makeshift darkroom he had set up in a spare bathroom when he had first moved in, and quickly lost himself in the familiar acrid scent of chemicals and the process of developing his film.

A little more than half an hour later, Erik was staring at a drying negative as he tried to figure out what to do with the next several hours as he waited for all the moisture to disappear.  A walk, he decided.  A walk would help him clear his head, and he could use the time to make up his mind about what else to do with the hours he suddenly had stretched out in front of him.

He found himself outside his mother’s apartment nearly an hour later, not remembering making the decision to come or most of the not-insignificant walk over.  Still, if his feet had lead him here of all places, he was sure they had a reason, and he hadn’t seen Mama in weeks.  He was sure to get an earful for his long absence already, not to mention what she would say if he heard about what he’d been up to since he got back from across the sea.  Perhaps he’d be better off calling back later.

Erik shook his head and squared his shoulders.  He was a grown man.  A known criminal who was too clever for the authorities to pin down, despite their increased efforts of late, who struck terror into the hearts of his enemies and his allies both when he smiled in just the right way.  He was not, he told himself firmly, going to run away from his Mama because he was afraid of a scolding.  Besides, the longer he put it off, the worse it would be in the end.  Best to get it over with now, especially since he’d already made the trek over.  Taking one last breath to fortify himself, he rapped sharply on the door.

His mama looked slightly put out as she opened the door, and Erik rolled his eyes heavenward and asked for patience when he realized she hadn’t bothered to check the peephole.  _Again_.  Still, he was soon distracted by the way her face lit up when she saw who was waiting for her on the other side of the door.

“Erik!  Mein shatz!” she crowed, a delighted smile breaking over her face.

“Mama, you need to be more careful when you open the door,” Erik groused.  “I could have been anybody.”

She rolled her eyes affectionately.  “Oh Erik, always worrying.  Don’t you fret about me.  Besides, you have all those nice boys looking after me. I have to give them something to do, don’t I?”

“They’re not boys, Mama,” he said, exasperated.  “And they’re not nice.  That’s why I picked them.”

“Well?” she asked, hands on her hips, “are you just going to stand there criticizing me?  Or are you going to come in and hug your mother?”

Erik stepped across the threshold and bent down, wrapping his mama in a firm hug as he buried his face in her hair, taking comfort in the familiar feeling of his mother’s arms around him after spending so long feeling like he had lost his mooring.  Normally he was the one to end their embraces, but this time around he just couldn’t bring himself to let go.

Mama pulled back first, cupping a hand to his cheek and staring into his face for a long moment, eyes searching and brow furrowed.  “Close the door, punim,” she said, patting him on the cheek as she pulled her hand away.  “And then come tell Mama what’s wrong.”

“There’s nothing wrong,” Erik said, exasperated as he turned around to shut the door, trying to shake off the strange moment of vulnerability before following his mother into her first floor apartment (chosen in an anticipation of the pain he was always told the more venerable had with stairs, which still had yet to appear).

“Of course there is.  Why else would my shatz stay away for so long without even a brief message to let me know he’s alive, hmm?  Leaving the country twice and picking a fight with the Italians and nary a word to his mama.  There _must_ be something wrong,” she said, eyes sharp as she eyed his no doubt guilty face, “because my boy would _never_ put me through something like that, up half the night worrying and fretting every day I don’t hear from him.  He would never do such a thing unless there was something wrong.”

She pointed imperiously to his seat at the kitchen table, and Erik sat meekly, feeling properly cowed.  “I’m sorry, Mama.”

“Good” she said curtly as she bustled around in the kitchen.

“Can I help with anything, Mama?” he asked, pushing back from the table preemptively.

He really should have known better, as much trouble as he was in.

“You can _sit down_ ,” she snapped at him in a tone that brooked no arguments, “and catch me up on your life.  It’s been _months_ since you talked to me, Erik.  _Months._   I was worried sick.”

He stared down at the table.  “I’m sorry, Mama.  It won’t happen again.”

“It better not,” she said darkly.  “Now,” she said over the sound of cabinets and the refrigerator opening and closing, “What is this I hear about Enzo Radice being found with his tongue missing and a bar of soap shoved in his mouth?”

“He had a filthy mouth, Mama,” Erik told her.  “It needed cleaning.  And his tongue isn’t missing, it’s in his hand.”

She sighed the put-upon sigh of a parent scolding their child for the umpteenth time about the same behavior.  “What was it this time?”

“I don’t like slurs,” Erik said simply, “and I don’t like bigots.  Comments on my preferences when it comes to partners and my religious upbringing are bad enough without bringing slurs or bigots into the equation.  I thought people knew that by now, but I was wrong.  I’ll just have to keep reminding them until they remember on their own.”  


Mama sighed and patted him on him on the head as she slid a plate in front of him.  Then her hand was suddenly on his chin and she lifted his face up, eyes zeroing in on the short, thin bright pink mark on his skin where the scab had fallen off of only that morning.  “Is that scar new?”

“Yes,” Erik said.  He’d learned the hard way long ago not to even attempt lying about these things.

Mama clucked her tongue.  “You told me these things would happen less often now.  You promised me.”

“‘Less often’ isn’t never,” Erik pointed out, but quickly quailed under her glare, though he did take his clip round the ear without flinching.  “I’ll be more careful,” he corrected himself.

“You better.  The man who gave you this?”

“Dead.”

“Good,” she said promptly, releasing his chin and sliding into the seat next to him. “Now, go on, eat.”

Erik glanced down and his plate and felt a small twinge of disappointment.

“No reibekuchen?” he asked, glancing up with a devastated expression.

She smacked him again, on the shoulder this time.  “Potato pancakes are only for good boys who call their mothers.  Now, tell me, what have you been up to?  How was England?”

“Good,” Erik told her as he took a bite of his beef, knowing if he didn’t eat he’d be in even more trouble.  “I got the contract that I wanted, which is what sent me over there in the first place, which is why I went back a few weeks ago.”

“Of course you did,” she said with a proud, indulgent smile.  “But surely you didn’t just work, did you?” she asked, and her tone was probing.

Worried about him working himself too hard, probably.  He spoke quickly to set her at ease.  “I went to a play,” he said.

Her reaction did not disappoint and he threw back his head and laughed at her expression.  It seemed like so long ago that he had anticipated this moment. To have all his hopes around her response fulfilled after having forgotten he’d had them, let alone how much of a motivating factor they had been in making the decision, somehow made it that much better.

“What did you see?” she asked at last, once she’d schooled her features into something less incredulous.

“‘Mousetrap’,” he said.

“How was it?” she asked.

“To be honest,” Erik said, a lip twitching upwards at the memory, “I didn’t pay very much attention to the play.”

She rolled her eyes.  “Oh good.  It is my boy.  I was worried there for a minute, wondering who this stranger was going to a play without his mama.  Now, what else did you do?  If you were bored enough to see a play surely there were other things you tried first.”

He told her about going to The Eagle and Child, about walking around Oxford. About the trip to the Pitt Rivers Museum, the time spent playing chess, and the bookstore he’d managed to lose several hours in.

Erik could feel himself smiling as he recounted each story, for all that doing so made him feel exposed in a strange way, like there was a hole in his chest leaving his heart exposed to the elements.

“Oh,” his mother exhaled softly when he paused to eat one of the few remaining bites of food on his plate and take a sip of water, a look of dawning apprehension on her face.  “Oh mein shatz,” she placed a hand over his own and squeezed it gently.  “I understand now.”

Erik squeezed her hand back and put down his glass in order to meet her expression with a questioning gaze.  Her expression was so tender it almost hurt to look at, filled with bittersweet happiness.

“You forgot something,” she said simply.

“No I didn’t,” Erik said, giving her a puzzled glance.  He’d told her everything he’d done.

“You met someone, yes?  That first night.  Someone you did all these things with.”

Erik’s throat felt tight.  “Yes,” he said simply.

“Oh shatz,” she said pulling him into a hug.  “This wasn’t what I had in mind when I told you I wanted to see you love someone.”

Erik’s spine stiffened and he pulled away.  “I’m not in…what would even make you think that?”

Her expression turned sad.  “Oh, Erik.  Is this why you picked that fight with the Radice family?  You always turn to anger when you don’t understand your emotions.”

“ _I_ didn’t ‘pick a fight’,” he spat out, hands clenching into fists.  “I finished what they started.  And I fail to see what the two have to do with each other.  Ridiculous.”

His mama studied him for a long time, squeezing his hand once more before pulling her own away.  “You say you finished a roll of film, yes?  Have you developed it yet?”

Erik was surprised by the change in topic, but said nothing, grateful she had let the ridiculous subject from earlier drop.  He enjoyed Charles’ company, yes.  But loved him?  Impossible.  “Yes.  I hung my negatives up to dry before I came over here.”

“Go print out your pictures, shatz,” she told him, pushing back from the table which prompted him to do the same.  “Bring them back to me tomorrow.  I want to see what my boy got up to in England.”

Erik hugged his mother goodbye, reluctant to let go again but forcing himself to do so.  No need to feed into his mother’s absurd delusions.

He used the long walk back to his apartment to clear his head, letting the last of the anger drain out of him.  His mother was just so desperate to see something that she was seeing things that weren’t there. That was all.

Erik got to work printing the first of the photos as soon as he returned to his room.  If his mother wanted to see the photos tomorrow (and Erik had no doubt that if he didn’t show up, she’d send his own men to hunt him down and drag him to her), then he needed to print them as soon as possible.  Erik fell easily into the familiar process and soon brought the first of the photos on the roll out of his darkroom into the light of the apartment to check how it had turned out and promptly froze.

One by one, he developed the photographs, hoping that the next one would show something different, would somehow invalidate what he thought he had seen in the ones that came before it.  One by one he brought them out into the light to examine.  One by one they burrowed into his heart.  When the last photo failed him too, Erik sank slowly down on the floor, spreading all his photographs out before him and staring in disbelief.

Pictures, in his experience, said so much more than words ever could.  Conveyed a depth of emotion that could never be expressed in any other way.  And as Erik stared down at those photos of a blue-eyed, brown haired, brilliant man, each one of them said the same thing loud and clear, conveyed the same emotion in ways Erik never could have articulated or believed any other way.

Erik Lehnsherr was in love with Charles Xavier.

* * *

 

Erik didn’t sleep that night.  Instead he stood out on his balcony, staring out at the New York City skyline, watching the smoke from his cigarette curl through the night as he tried to process what the pictures still lying on his floor were telling him.  The lights and sounds of the city soothed him a way few things could.  He’d spent a long time losing himself in those sounds when they’d come here, after a long journey through most of Europe, all of which had come after being tugged out of bed and fiercely hugged by his father before he and his mother had been spirited away in the dead of night for reasons he couldn’t understand at the time.  Now the memory made his blood boil and his heart ache.  If he’d known it was the last time he was going to see his father, he would have hugged him back.  His mother had struggled valiantly to make ends meet, but no one wanted to give work to a single Jewish mother with a German accent, not in those days.  The first time Erik, unable to sleep, found his mother sobbing at the kitchen table, he’d taken matters into his own hands.

The angry teenage immigrant had soon come to know the sounds of New York at night first hand, finding a home in the underbelly of the city that never slept.  At the tender age of thirteen, Erik had already learned who to trust, who not to, exactly what was important in the long run.  And Erik would do whatever it took to keep those important things safe; would do whatever it took to prevent anything or anyone from taking any of those things from him ever again.

That hadn’t changed in the last twenty-one years.  So, now that he knew he loved Charles, what next?  There was still a fucking ocean between them and it wasn’t as if Erik could give up two decades hard work, most of it involving bloodshed, for someone he’d only really known for three weeks.  And it wasn’t as if he could ask Charles to move here.  Charles was happy in Oxford, in the midst of his studies for his doctorate.  Charles wouldn’t have any fucking reason to _want_ to give it up.  Erik was the one with the stupid impossible feelings, not Charles.  It wasn’t as if any of that was going to change, either.  Erik’s work and world would always be in New York City and Erik was fairly certain Charles had been destined to be a professor from the day he was born.  He couldn’t ask Charles to make any promises, not when it seemed the ocean was always destined to be between them.

Erik threw the butt of his cigarette as far off the balcony as he could manage, watching the orange glow of it arc through the air before it was lost to him amongst the other lights of the city.  He yanked the next cigarette out of his pack and jammed it between his lips, barely resisting the urge to chuck his lighter after the butt when it didn’t strike on the first try.  He lit it eventually, his cigarette quick to follow, and he took a deep drag in.  Erik pretended that the hand that took the cigarette from his mouth was shaking from the cold as he exhaled unevenly, that his eyes were burning because the wind was blowing smoke in them, and that it was the nicotine making his chest feel tight.

So Erik had fallen in love with someone he could never be with, at least not in any real, permanent sense.  Fine.  As far as he was concerned, there were two options.  The first was to carry on as he had intended before this revelation.  Exchanging chess moves with Charles via post, and writing letters so as not to waste paper.  Taking personal responsibility for all the shipments overseas and calling Charles when he did, spending two weeks in his bed every three months until such a time as he or Charles tired of the arrangement.  It involved Erik begging for any scraps of attention Charles was willing to throw him.

The second was to vow, here and now, that he was going to quit Charles cold turkey.  Put someone else in charge of the arms shipments.  Lose Charles’ number and address.  Forget those blue eyes and those lips and that smile.  If Erik couldn’t have what he wanted, what was the point of torturing himself until Charles grew tired of him or found someone else, someone not halfway across the world for all but eight weeks out any given year?  Better to end it now, a clean break, rather than let himself be slowly poisoned.

Pulling his cigarette out his mouth, Erik stubbed it out on the rail of the balcony before letting it go, not caring enough to watch if it fell over the edge.  He shoved the sliding glass door open viciously and grabbed the first photograph he could, picking it up and storming back out to the balcony.  He held the picture out over the skyline while the other went to his pocked and grabbed his lighter.  It struck a flame on the first try.

Erik brought the fire to the photograph with grim determination.  He’d burn the evidence, and then let time do for his memory what fire and wind would do for the photographs.

But the fire cast light where there had once been shadow, revealing a Charles who had just turned at the sound of Erik’s footsteps.  His blue eyes were no less devastating in black and white than they would have been in color.  His eyebrow was arched, and Erik could remember the next words out of his mouth with perfect clarity.

“What are you doing?” the voice in his memory asked, warm and amused.

Erik yanked his lighter away as the top edge of the photo began to darken from white to brown, snapping it closed with a flick of his fingers even as he clasped the photo against his chest, where it would no longer be at risk of being ripped away by the wind.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he said, and this time there was no cigarette to blame for the water in his eyes.

He straightened up a moment later, wiping roughly at his cheeks as he crossed the threshold back into his apartment, shutting the door firmly behind him.  He placed the photo back on the floor and carefully righted those the wind had flipped when he’d left the door open.

Clearly option two was not actually an option.

“I” Erik said aloud to the empty room, “need another fucking cigarette.”

Since Erik just tossed his last cigarette off the balcony, this necessitated a trip to the shop at the other end of the street, a 24-hour place that sold all and sundry.  He could have bummed one off someone else (anyone really), but he had a feeling the walk would do him good.

He was walking back to his apartment, pack of cigarettes in the pocket of the leather jacket he’d thrown on for the trip, when the display in a nearby stationary store caught his eye.  A simple photo album, the covers brown leather, centerpiece, corners, and lock all done in what looked like bronze **.** If the pictures were all Erik would have of Charles for the foreseeable future, if the pictures were the only permanent reminder he could count on, then Erik wasn’t going to risk anything happening to them.  He wasn’t about to carry them around in a stack when he went to see his mother.  They would be far too vulnerable that way, the elements posing too much of a threat.  A way to keep them all together, to keep them safe…

Erik rapped sharply on the glass door, ignoring the posted store hours that declared the store in question had closed half an hour ago and the closed sign in favor of making eye contact with the clerk still behind the counter.  The man glanced up, a glare on his face and mouth open to utter angry words that never made it past his lips.  Instead Erik watched with grim amusement as the man’s face turned ashen and he scrambled out from behind the counter, unlocking the door with trembling fingers.

“Mr. Lehnsherr,” he said in a wavering voice.  “How can I help you?”

Erik cocked his head towards the window display.  “I would like to make a purchase.”

* * *

 

It became a ritual.  Every three months Erik went to England and spent as much time as he could with Charles, usually in the man’s flat in Oxford.  Two weeks later, Erik would return to the United States, but not to work.  Instead he’d take a day to himself to develop his photographs.  Then he’d spend time carefully putting his photographs and any mementos that had been collected into the binder, processing his emotions and doing his best to file them away until they were needed again.  And if they crept up on him again, well…that was what he had the binder for.

Three months and four chess moves later, Erik was staring out Charles’ window in Oxford at the light dusting of snow on the ground.  He turned around, planning on asking Charles if he wanted to go for a walk before the rain washed it all away only to have his words die on his lips.

Charles was sprawled out on the couch, circles under his eyes deep and his brow furrowed even in sleep, his annotated thesis spread around him.

Erik felt his heart clench in his chest at the sight, and he allowed himself to simply stare for a long time, savoring the sight before him.  He didn’t know if he’d ever be privileged with it again, after all.

Erik’s solution to the issue of being love in Charles had been simple:  treat each visit as if it would be his last and do his damnedest to make Charles fall in love with him while he was there.

This week though, Charles was deep in his thesis preparation, and it was taking all of Erik’s limited caretaking skills to keep the man from falling apart completely.

“How have you survived this long?” Erik murmured to the sleeping form as he bent down and gently pulled Charles into his arms.  He couldn’t help but frown.  Charles was far lighter than he had been the last time Erik had supported his weight, albeit under vastly different circumstances.

Charles let out a small murmur of protest, eyelids fluttering.  “Put me down,” he murmured sleepily, before completely undermining the words by curling further into Erik’s embrace.  “Erik, no. I need to study.”

“Working past coherence isn’t going to help at all,” Erik admonished him as he angled himself sideways to allow him to clear the doorway without bumping Charles’ head or feet on the doorframe.  “At this point, you have to accept that you’re actually being counterproductive.  Consider it from a standpoint of efficiency,” Erik said as he lowered Charles down to the bed before he began unlacing Charles’ shoes.  “The rate at which you are currently processing information, you’ll get through in three hours what would take you ten minutes if you were properly rested. And your comprehension level will only _decrease_ as the night goes on,” Erik informed him as he removed his shoes and then his socks.  “Clearly the best use of your time, then, is to _sleep._ ”  He brought his hands up to Charles’s belt, undoing it and yanking it off with the ease of practice.  “Now, have I won you over, or do you need to be persuaded?” Erik asked, fingers resting on Charles’ fly.

“Too tired to be persuaded,” Charles mumbled, eyes closed.

“If that doesn’t make my point for me,” Erik remarked as he pulled Charles’ pants off, “I don’t know what does.”

He reached for Charles’ shirt, only to freeze when the man’s hand flashed forward far faster than Erik would have expected given his half asleep state, fingers wrapping around Erik’s wrist tightly.  Erik looked up at Charles, and his blue eyes were wide open and filled with fear.

“Charles?” Erik asked cautiously.

“I prefer to sleep with my shirt on,” Charles said, his voice as unsteady as his hand was firm.

“I know,” Erik said simply, instincts and experience causing something to coil in his gut.  “But a button-up isn’t exactly conducive to comfortable sleeping.”

Carefully, being sure to telegraph his movements, he brought his hand up and placed it gently over Charles’ own, still wrapped around Erik’s wrist.  “What is it, Charles?”

Charles swallowed and slowly released his hold on Erik’s wrist, slipping his hand out from beneath Erik’s own.  “Nothing.  It’s _nothing,”_ he mumbled, but his expression was intent.  Undoing his buttons with trembling fingers, Charles slowly shrugged his way out of his shirt before trying to force himself up on unsteady feet.

Erik stared uncomprehendingly at the expanse of skin now revealed.  It couldn’t be.  He’d been with Charles for weeks now.  He’d seen it all before.

Except clearly he hadn’t.

Erik put a hand on Charles’ shoulder, pressing him gently back down onto the mattress as he stared at the marks on Charles’ back.

Scars.  Charles had scars.

“Erik…” Charles said, and his voice was so uncertain that it broke something in Erik.

Erik leaned over and kissed Charles as carefully as he knew how, letting his hand slip down Charles’ back to rest on the uneven skin there.  He pulled away, resting his forehead against Charles’.

“You need to sleep,” he said gently, using the other hand to stroke Charles’ hair back, “but tomorrow…tomorrow I have some questions.  If you don’t mind answering them.  But I do have one I’d like you to answer now.”

“I…alright,” Charles said, refusing to meet Erik’s eyes.

“Do you still need your sleep shirt?”

Charles eyes darted back up and he gave Erik a weak smile.  “I…yes.  Keeping them covered is a part of it, I won’t deny that.  But I tend to get cold.”

Erik pressed a kiss to Charles’ forehead before standing and crossing the room to his suitcase, pulling one of his undershirts out and walking back to the bed, where Charles was listing slightly to the side and blinking sleepily. Erik was not nearly as practiced at dressing Charles as he was at undressing him, but he managed it eventually.

“Sleep,” he ordered when he was done, pushing Charles gently down onto the mattress and pulling the blanket’s up around him once Charles’ head was on the pillow.

Charles murmured something sleepily, and then he was gone.

Erik stared down at him, watching his deep, even breaths as rage swelled in his chest.  Knowing it was reaching dangerous limits, he quickly pushed himself off the bed, but he couldn’t bring himself to go any further than the door of the room, the thought of not seeing Charles intolerable to him in this moment.  He slid down against it, staring at Charles’ chests continued rising and falling.

Charles had scars.  Charles, the posh, cultured, entitled academic had scars.

Erik knew scars.  He had more than his fair share, and had inflicted far, far more.  Erik’s business was scars.  And those scars didn’t come from accidents.  Those kinds of injuries were inflicted by a larger opponent upon a smaller one, and with more than just fists.  They had been old.  Years old.  Decades, even.

Erik’s rage flared, and he allowed himself to simply let the anger course through him for a time, having no other option with the subject of his ire still unknown.

They would pay, he vowed.  For what they had done, he would make them pay.  Every scar on Charles’ body (and Erik would get to know them all, he vowed, every last one, as he reassured Charles of his worth, his beauty, his strength, as he banished that terror and uncertainty from his eyes) would be recreated on the skin of the man who had inflicted them.  He would pay in blood.

And then he would pay with his life.

Plans made, Erik took several deep breaths, banking his rage until it burned low in his gut, dormant until he would need it again.  For now, there were more important things to worry about.

Erik slipped of his shoes and his jacket before slipping into bed, pulling Charles up against his chest where he could watch him, feel him, shield him.

“No one will ever touch you again,” Erik whispered, staring down at the sleeping Charles, “not so long as I draw breath.”

The photo he took the next morning was of a sated Charles lying face down on the bed; a wide, contented smile on his face and the winter sun illuminating the pale marks against his even paler skin in the wake of a difficult conversation. One where Charles had confessed his stepfather was responsible and Erik had made Charles a promise of vengeance that the other man obviously thought him incapable of fulfilling.  The picture was the aftermath of Erik distracting Charles as thoroughly as possible in the wake of the discussion.

Erik wasn’t sure if his hands were shaking with rage or grief when he placed it into the binder a week and a half later.

He filled the pages slowly, one visit at a time, picture after picture labeled in his own handwriting with dates and locations.  Memory after memory perfectly preserved and filed away.  The time Charles was sick in ’68 and tolerated Erik’s care-taking with poor grace.  The day trip they took to **London,** Charles leaning on the telescope and staring out at the view.  The day they spent sprawled lazily in the park, Charles head buried in a book and Erik’s face hidden behind his camera.

The morning after the night that had changed everything.  The night where Charles had demanded Erik take him hard, demanded Erik screw him without words, gritting out “fuck me like you hate me” as he tugged Erik down into a violent kiss.  The night when, after he’d done as Charles had ordered, Erik had held Charles in his arms as Charles cried, leaving Erik terrified and unmoored and with his heart breaking in his chest.  The night Erik’s heart sang and broke simultaneously when he understood why Charles was crying; because this was tearing him apart from the inside the same way it was Erik.  The night Erik had whispered “I thought I was alone in my feelings” against Charles’ temple and Charles had turned and kissed him with a tearstained face, whispering “you’re not alone.”

Four years of memories, of stolen moments, of two weeks of bittersweet heaven followed by months of hell.  Erik turned to those frozen moments to gather strength, because it was only a matter of time.  They couldn’t go on like this forever.

Erik’s fingers ghosted a well-worn path around the edges of the photograph on his desk as he stared out the window at the familiar skyline of his city, brows creased in thought.  More than two weeks since he should have left for England, had his trip not been canceled.  Another three months before he could make the journey again.  If it wasn’t for Charles’ impromptu trip in May, it would have been six months without seeing him.  As it was, this was the longest they had been apart since their liaisons had begun.

His eyes flickered down to his desk, drinking in the familiar figure in the photograph.  Sprawled out on a couch that had since been replaced, article he was reading cradled behind his head as he smiled and beaconed the camera-man over.  “Charles” scrawled beneath in Erik’s own handwriting, his fingers obscuring the ’67 Erik knew lay beneath them.  The area under the photo was smudged dark, the edges well-worn, but even after just over four years, the image itself was pristine.  For all that Erik handled it frequently since it had been taken, he was careful to never mar the image itself, treasuring the visual reminder of that first week together.  The first of many since but not nearly enough.

Erik didn’t think all the weeks from now until the end of time would be enough.  But such thoughts were beyond useless when the Atlantic Ocean lay between them, and they were lucky to see each other for two weeks at a stretch.  Erik couldn’t help but feel bitter that for all the power he possessed, the nature of that power made relocation nearly impossible without rebuilding from the ground up.  Still, that didn’t stop him from the occasional idle considerations of what it would take to establish a base of operations in Oxford.  The slightly less idle thoughts of expanding business in Europe to warrant his personal attention every month or so, instead of every three.

The buzz of the telephone jarred him roughly from his thoughts, and Erik carefully replaced the photo in its binder, next to the ticket stubs that had changed his life and shut it carefully away before reaching for the receiver.  The number of people who had Erik’s direct line was very few, and Erik quickly shut away his thoughts about Charles and slipped back into the headspace of Erik Lehnsherr, the man feared and respected all over the city; for all that he controlled only a portion of it.  Ruthless but fair or so he thought.  To merit a call on the direct line though, he had a feeling the situation would require much more of the former than the latter.

“Talk,” he barked harshly into the receiver.

“Erik,” a warm voice responded, and Erik felt the persona he had just so carefully cultivated melting away instantly.

“Charles,” he breathed in response, knowing his voice gave away far more than he wanted to while their situation was as it was.  Then he straightened, worry and suspicion and protectiveness all welling up at once.  “Is anything wrong?  You have no idea how happy I am to hear your voice, but you calling isn’t exactly a common occurrence.”

“No.  There’s nothing wrong.  Rather the opposite, I hope.  Erik, I…I’ve gotten a new job.  Columbia University…they’ve hired me to be a professor.”

Erik couldn’t quite believe his ears.  Columbia University.  Here, in the city.

“Well,” Charles continued, “to be more accurate, it’s a position as an Adjunct Professor, but the point is…well, the point is that I’ll be moving to New York.”

“Charles…” Erik exhaled, his voice full of incredulous hope that he did his best to reign in.  To have his hopes raised this high only to have them dashed would be…crushing.  Better to proceed with caution.  “How long?  How long will you be here?”  Erik knew adjunct positions were far from permanent.  If there was a deadline on this new arrangement, he had to know now.

There was a deep breath on the other end of the line, followed by a long huff of breath.  “I want…the position is for two semesters, but…”

“I know a place you can stay,” Erik cut him off.  “As long as you’re here…as long as you want.  I have more than enough room.”

“And…if I wanted to stay as long as you’d have me?” Charles asked cautiously.

Erik’s breath caught in his throat.  “Forever, then.”

There was a weak, wet laugh on the other end.  “That sounds perfect.”

“Yes,” Erik said, his throat tight.  “I rather think it does.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

The three weeks between Charles’ phone call and his arrival at JFK International Airport were the most hellish Erik had ever endured. They seemed to drag on longer than all the time he had spent waiting to meet Charles over the past four years combined. And yet they simultaneously rushed by far, far too fast for him to finish all the preparations that needed to be made.

 Because there were preparations that _must_ be made.

Charles living across the ocean was one thing.  A Charles living across the ocean, for all that he was far from Erik’s power and influence, was far from Erik’s rivals and in no way obviously associated with him.  It had required one (very trusted, very _straight_ ) man and a few favors for Erik to be confident that he would be kept out of harm’s way.  Charles in New York City, for all that it was as if Erik had been granted every wish he had made since they had met, would require much more careful thought and planning to protect.  Erik would not tolerate Charles coming to harm.  The thought of Charles coming to harm as a result of his relationship with Erik was completely unthinkable.  Precautions had to be taken, far in advance of Charles’ arrival.  The first, of course, was consideration around their living space.  That they would be living together had already been decided.  But Erik wasn’t sure he was ready to have his foes aware of this information.  Where Erik currently lived was common knowledge, but he wasn’t ready to have Charles’ occupancy there be the same.  It would be, if they cohabitated there.  A new apartment then, somewhere discreet.

He had considered the building where his mother lived for scant seconds before discarding the idea.  As much as it appealed to him to give the two people he cared for most in the world the chance to get to know one another, having everything he loved under one roof and one target, giving his foes the opportunity to deprive him of them both in one fell swoop — it didn’t bear thinking about.  He’d eventually settled on a loft in a nice, if not noticeable, building in neutral territory, for all that having Charles’ living space outside his influence hurt.  This would keep him safer in the long run, of that Erik was certain.  That Erik was homosexual was an open secret, and to comment about it, or about homosexuality in general, with anything but the utmost respect in his hearing or the hearing of those who served under him was to ask to be _educated_.  That Erik had a sweetheart across the sea was another open secret.  That that same sweetheart was moving to the city was a fact known only to a trusted few.

Erik spied several of those few loitering seemingly aimlessly around the terminal and felt approval coursing through him.  Good.  Seemingly aimless loitering is what they would be doing for quite some time, if Erik had his way.  And Erik took steps to ensure that he usually did.

Thoughts of his work brought Erik up short.  Because if Charles was moving here, if he was going to live with Erik in New York City-the seat of Erik’s power and also the home to most of his enemies, not to mention the place where he was scrutinized most closely by the increasingly frustrated government-then there was a conversation that they needed to have about Erik’s occupation.  If this conversation lost him what he had craved for so long, as he feared it might, so be it; he would not allow Charles to walk into this blind.

The sudden rush of people hurrying past Erik brought him out of his thoughts and into the present. Excitement and dread mixed together low in his gut as he strained his eyes towards the end of the jet way.

 He didn’t have to wait long before he caught a glimpse of a familiar, compact figure coming up the jet way.  His clothes were rumpled, he was burdened by a messenger bag and the suitcase he dragged behind him.  There were shadows under his eyes and looked every inch the weary travel-worn passenger he had been for the past several hours.  But then he looked up and caught sight of Erik.  The smile that transformed his face as a result took Erik’s breath away.

A few long, impatient strides later and Erik was able to see it up close, for all that the sight was quickly lost as he threw his arms around Charles and clutched him close.  Charles wrapped his arms around Erik as well and they simply stood like that for a long moment, ignoring everything and everyone around them.  After a time of simply burrowing his face in Erik’s chest, Charles pulled back slightly, but just enough so that he could look up, his blue eyes suspiciously bright.

“Hello,” he said softly.

“Welcome home,” Erik choked out despite the tightness in his throat. The only thing that kept Erik from grabbing Charles and kissing him soundly at his expression in response to that was the announcement that came over the loudspeakers, abruptly causing the rest of the world to filter in and reminding Erik of where he was. 

It would be a poor welcome to the city to get Charles arrested for violating Sodomy law.  He had to settle for burying his fingers in Charles’ hair and putting the other in the small of his back as he tugged him close again.  “Let’s get out of here” he said at last, the hand on Charles’ back wandering lower before halting just above where both he and Charles really wanted it to be, “before I get us both arrested, and go somewhere where I can give you a _real_ welcome, hmm?”

Charles stepped back and Erik had to bite back a groan, for all that he understood the wisdom of it.  He bent down and retrieved Charles’ suitcase, which had overbalanced during their embrace, carrying it one-handed as he threw the other over Charles’ shoulder.  He would have preferred his waist, but after their welcome there were only so many boundaries he felt he could push in a public airport.  Erik made a mental note to invest in a private plane and hangar to avoid situations like this in the future.  Frankly, he was appalled that he hadn’t thought of it earlier.

The car pulled up as soon as Erik stepped out of the airport, and before they’d even managed to cross half the distance, the trunk was popped and the driver, Alex, had jumped out, rushing around to open the door.  Erik passed off the suitcase with the ease of practice and ushered Charles into the car in front of him.

As soon as the door had shut behind him, Erik took advantage of both the tinted windows and Alex's absence to pull Charles into a deep a desperate kiss.  Charles fisted his hands in the lapels of Erik's coat and reciprocated with enthusiasm, but as soon as Erik heard the trunk slam and saw Alex coming back around to the front of the car he pulled away reluctantly.  Charles glared at him, lips red and swollen, and moved forward as if to begin their efforts once again, but Erik shook him off.

"If we start now," Erik explained, "I won't be able to stop.  And for all that I trust Alex a great deal...there are some things about you that I am unwilling to share.  Namely everything."

Charles let out a small groan of frustration but said nothing else, seemingly content to lean back against his seat and close his eyes, tension in his frame slowly easing.

"I'm too tired to really get up to anything at the moment.  International flights are always so much longer than I remember them being and there was a small child in the seat in front of me who cried most of the first half of the ride in and threw up on her seat about halfway through.  The smell was not exactly conducive to sleep or eating."

Erik gently tugged Charles down into a sprawl on the backseat, arranging him so that Charles' head was pillowed on his thigh before setting himself to work combing his fingers through Charles' hair.  It had the intended effect, and Charles let out a small indecent moan that had Erik shooting a venomous look at Alex through the review mirror.  But Alex was forgotten when Charles' eyelids began to flutter and the tension bled out of him slowly by degrees.  Erik stared down at him in disbelief.  This was his life now. This was his, always, every day.  The thought humbled him.

Alex clearing his throat brought Erik out of the sort of mindless stupor he had fallen into, focused only on mapping the expression on Charles' face and the minute flutters of his eyelids and the feeling of his hair beneath Erik's fingers.  Charles looked too tired, and it wasn't just the fight.  This was the kind of tired that took time to accumulate.  Somehow Erik doubted that the last three weeks had been any more restful for Charles than they had been for him, and he knew for a fact that before that Charles had been in the middle of the mad rush that came at the end of years of slow toil that was working on a thesis.  He had lost weight and he looked exhausted.  But there was also an inner contentment that Erik reveled in, and he vowed that under his care the other issues would disappear for Charles entirely.

At Erik's glare, Alex simply rolled his eyes.  "We're here," he said simply before there was the click of the trunk being unlatched and he hopped out of the car.  He was around in a matter of seconds, Charles' suitcase in hand and the door held open for the two of them.

Erik stared down at Charles pillowed on his lap, torn.  Charles was clearly exhausted, and Erik was loath to wake him.  He considered briefly carrying Charles out of the car, but knew in the long run that would be a poor choice.  With a reluctant sigh, he ceased petting Charles' hair.

"Charles," he called softly.  "Charles, we're here."

Charles blinked up at him, his eyes still sleep fogged and a slow and gentle smile breaking out over his face that had Erik's breath catching in his throat again.  “That was quick.  I thought you were farther from the airport than that."

Erik slid out of the car before offering Charles his hand wordlessly.  Charles took it, and Erik pulled him up out of the car.  He watched Charles’ expression closely as he took in where they were.  Mild surprise at first and then his brow furrowed in confusion.

“Where…” he began but Erik quickly cut him off.

“My place was further from the airport, it’s true.  _Our_ place, on the other hand…” he trailed off, not knowing how to finish the sentence, and settled for a shrug and a small, slightly sheepish grin.

Charles stared at him, brow still furrowed, but this time not in confusion so much as careful consideration.

“Let’s go inside,” he said, squeezing Erik’s hand, which he hadn’t released after stepping from the car before pulling it gently from Erik’s grasp.  “I can sense there’s more to this conversation, and on a public street doesn’t exactly strike me as the best place to have it.”

Erik nodded, throat going dry again, though this time for entirely different reasons.  They did need to have this conversation, and the street was certainly not the place to have it.  He took Charles’ bag from Alex and let the driver know with a nod of his head that he was dismissed.  Erik strode quickly to the door and opened it, gesturing for Charles to make his way in.  “Top floor.  There’s an elevator at the end of the hall.”

“Which room?”  Charles asked as he pushed the button to call the elevator.

Erik just barely held back a smirk as the doors opened.  “All of them.”

* * *

 

The expression on Charles’ face as he surveyed their new loft was not one that Erik could read easily, for all that Erik had been making a careful study of his face and the ways it moved for years now.

“I took the liberty unpacking the things you shipped.  We can move them, of course, if you’d like.”

“Your apartment was more than big enough for all of this,” Charles said.

“Yes,” Erik said, sensing he was on thin ice but unsure exactly how much pressure would cause it to crack.  “It was.  But it was _my_ apartment.  And I wanted this place to be for the two of us.  And I know that this is a decision we should have made together, but I just…I wanted everything to be ready when you got in.  For all this to be waiting for you.  And if you do want to make that decision together, then…then that’s what we’ll do.  We’ll pack it all up and move it somewhere you choose.  But…but there’s going to be some restrictions on where we can move.”

Charles stared up at him, tilting his head as he studied Erik’s expression intently.

Erik took a deep breath.  “Charles, there’s something I need to tell you.  Because I…I don’t want to lie to you anymore, I never did, I was doing it to keep you safe but now that we’re going to be living together…well, at least I hope we’re going to be living together…if you’re going to be in New York, it’s only fair that you make an informed decision and…keeping you safe requires different things now that you’re actually here.”  He took a deep breath, cutting himself off before the babbling could continue.  Best to just get it over with.  “Charles, I’m not a photographer, I…”

He was cut off as Charles grabbed his tie and dragged him down into a kiss.  Erik allowed himself to get lost in the kiss, to get lost in Charles, for far longer than he should have, one hand resting on Charles’ hip, pulling him closer as his other hand went to the back of Charles’ neck.  He was in the process of untucking Charles’ shirt when he finally got himself under control.  This was important, damn it.

“Charles, I’m trying to…”

He was cut off by yet another kiss, and this time it was only a matter of seconds before he mastered himself enough to pull away.  Charles smiled up at him.

“Erik, love, the fact that you were willing to tell me means more than I can say, but the truth of the matter is I’ve had my suspicions about what you do for a long time now, and while I don’t know the specifics, quite frankly if the police ever come to ask me any questions about what it is you do, I would prefer it if I wasn’t lying when I told them I had no idea what they were talking about.”

Then he swiftly stepped back into Erik’s space, hooking his fingers into the belt loops on Erik’s pants and tugging until they were pressed up against each other.  “Now,” he said mischievously as he leaned up to mouth at Erik’s ear, “I believe someone said something about welcoming me properly?”  And then he sucked the lobe of Erik’s ear into his mouth as he thrust his hips up against Erik’s and all semblance of rationality fled from Erik’s mind.

With a growl, he lifted Charles up off the floor and slammed him against the nearest wall, Charles’ legs coming to wrap around his waist just as they impacted against it.

Erik felt familiar fingers tangle in his hair and he didn’t even give them time to tug before he was leaning down and kissing the smirk off Charles’ face.  His hands tightened their grip on Charles’ hips as he slipped his tongue into Charles’ mouth, only pulling off to swear as Charles bucked up against him, the familiar feeling of Charles’ hard cock pressing against his own enough to make him lose what little control he had left.

He hiked Charles up further against the wall, pressing him back against it as his hands slid from Charles’ waist to clutch his arse through his clothes and why the _hell_ was Charles still wearing pants.

Apparently Erik had spoken aloud, because Charles, _damn him_ , leaned up and ran his tongue along the shell of Erik’s ear before he whispered “I’m not.”

Erik let out a string of obscenities before reaching one hand around to scrabble at Charles’ belt, needing to see if Charles had spoken true.  He called Charles a tease of the worst sort and a minx and told him exactly what he planned to do to him for the rest of the night starting with his hand on Charles’ cock.

It wasn’t until Charles let out a particular moan and his hands tightened in Erik’s hair that he realized he wasn’t speaking English.  He couldn’t help but smirk.  Charles did always like it when Erik used what an extremely drunk Charles had called his “talented tongue.”  In _all_ ways.

Undoing Charles’ belt at last, Erik unbuttoned and unzipped his pants one-handed with the ease of long practice, continuing to whisper filthy things against Charles’ skin between the kisses he pressed against it.  When he wrapped his hand around Charles’ cock, no fabric impeding his process, he swore again.

“ _Erik_ ,” Charles groaned, fingers falling from Erik’s hair to clutch at his shoulders while Erik stroked Charles’ cock in time with the thrusts he was making up against the man.

Even through their clothing, the friction felt too good to stop, the rocking of his hips instinctual, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop, not with the taste of Charles’ skin against his tongue and the sound of Charles’ moans and gasps and exclamations of his name in Charles’ voice in his ear and Charles’ legs wrapped around his waist and hands digging into his shoulder and his cock hard and hot in Erik’s hand.

His thrusts grew harder and faster, hand working on Charles’ cock all the while Charles rocking forward to meet each one and god, he was so close, just a little more friction…but not yet.  He tightened his grip until it was as firm as he knew Charles liked, speeding up his strokes and watching avidly as Charles threw his head back, panting, unable to do more than clutch as Erik’s shoulders and moan as Erik continued rocking against him.

“You’re like this because of me,” Erik said, awestruck as he worked Charles’ cock.  “I made you like this.  I get to see you like this.  Only me.  _Charles_.”

And then Charles made a noise that Erik was familiar with but would never, ever grow tired of as he came in Erik’s hand, warm and wet.

It was the sound and the sight and the sensation coupled with one last, hard thrust that sent Erik over the edge as well, vision whiting out with pleasure.

When he had his wits about him again, he frowned as he considered their position, still pressed up against the wall of the living room.  Charles was tired, Erik knew, and after the orgasm he’d just had Erik doubted he was in any position to do anything but sleep.  Reaching up and licking the cum off his hand, Erik considered the problem.

“Not fair,” Charles murmured, staring at Erik through half-lidded eyes.  “You’re not allowed to do that when I’m too tired to do anything about it.”

Erik smirked at him before tilting his head (up, for a change) and pressing a kiss to Charles’ neck.  “Tomorrow, love.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Charles muttered as Erik adjusted his grip and, once he was sure Charles was secure and was confident that he could support them both, began making his way slowly to the bedroom.

He deposited Charles gently on the bed, undressing him with care.  He yanked his own clothes off haphazardly, using his undershirt to clean himself up before climbing into bed as well.

“Welcome home,” he murmured into Charles’ sweat soaked temple as he pulled him close, tangling their legs together and wrapping his arms around Charles as his back came in line with Erik’s chest.

Charles rolled just enough so that he could look up at Erik and smiled, slow and sweet and perfect.

_This is mine_ , Erik thought to himself staring down in disbelieving wonder, finally allowing himself to believe it, for all he’d had the thought hundreds of times in the past few weeks.  _This is really mine._

Unable to help himself, he bent down and kissed Charles, slow and deep, languid but not urgent.  “I love you,” he said, when he pulled away, pressing his forehead against Charles.  “I love you so much.  I have for years now.  And it was tearing me up inside not to be with you, and telling you…telling you would only have made it worse.  But you’re here now.  You’re really here.  And I…I love you.”

Charles beamed and leaned up to kiss him again.  “And I love you, Erik Lehnsherr.”

* * *

 

Erik woke the next morning with Charles in his arms.  He would, he realized, wake up _every_ morning with Charles in his arms.  This was the rule now, not the exception.  He buried his smile in Charles’ sleep-mussed hair, inhaling deeply.  It didn’t matter how long he had, he would never grow tired of this feeling, this smell, this situation.  He’d spent too long craving it without having it to ever be anything but stunned at how it felt.

Charles was still down for the count, not that that was surprising.  He’d had a long day yesterday Erik mused as he brushed the hair out of Charles’ face.  His lips pressed together tightly at the deep purple shadows beneath Charles’ eyes.  Charles’ cheekbones, too, had become more prominent.  Now that Erik was no longer lost in the heat of the moment, in the feeling of Charles’ legs wrapped around his waist and the taste of him of him in his mouth, he could recall that Charles had been far too easy to lift and to hold yesterday.  Erik wasn’t surprised — Charles frequently failed to take care of himself.

Now that Charles was here, Erik would see that it stopped happening.  He was there, after all, to take care of Charles when the man got too absorbed in his work to remember to do it himself.  And he knew exactly how to set about beginning to undo the damage that had already been done.

Erik pressed a lingering kiss to Charles’ temple before he finally forced himself to leave the warm cocoon of the bed, nearly losing his resolve when Charles made a small, sleepy sound of protest as Erik gently untangled them as he pulled away, but he persevered.  He was careful to let as little heat escape as possible when he slipped out from under the blue silk sheets (which had looked as incredible against Charles’ skin as he had imagined they would), going so far as to throw a new cover over Charles so he wouldn’t grow cold.

Erik took one last, lingering look at where Charles still slept soundly in their bed, drinking in the sight, before making his way into the kitchen.  He’d made breakfast for Charles enough times to know exactly what Charles would want under the circumstances, and the process was familiar enough that he could lose himself in thought as he went through the motions automatically.  Bacon was a must, he knew, given his plans for the after breakfast and what it would likely mean for the state of their refrigerator.  He anticipated they wouldn’t be free until the late afternoon, or possibly the early evening, and he wanted today to be fairly low stress for Charles.  It would be best if he stayed awake, Erik knew from long experience with international flights.  Sunlight too, would help.

They’d walk to his mother’s then, and walk back if Charles was up to it.  A game of chess in the park would be perfect too, though that would have to wait until tomorrow.  It was in the opposite direction of Mama’s house, and Erik was sure that the visit would eat up the majority of the day.  Actually, upon further consideration, the car would be a necessity, given the amount of food Erik anticipated they’d be bringing back with them.

A pair of arms wrapped around Erik’s waist, and then there was a familiar shape pressed against his back, the heat of Charles’ body seeping through the thin shirt he wore to bed and into Erik’s skin.  Erik reached his free hand down and wrapped it around Charles’ and smiled at the contented humming coming from behind him.  There was a puff of air against his neck followed by the brief press of lips before Erik felt Charles’ chin resting on his shoulder.

“Good morning,” he murmured sleepily.

Erik carefully placed the bacon on the two plates that already bore small stacks of pancakes (pancakes were for lazy days, eggs were for mornings when the day was supposed to be productive).  He turned off the burner with a quick flick of his wrist and once he was sure nothing would be in danger of catching fire, Erik turned around, lips twitching when he realized Charles was on tip-toe.

“Yes,” he said, leaning in until his lips were just barely brushing against Charles’, “it is.”

He closed the gap.

Erik pulled away before the kiss had a chance to morph from something sweet and deep into something less chaste.  Normally he wouldn’t be opposed to such a transformation, but under the circumstances, it would run the risk of Charles neglecting his breakfast.  Besides, he wanted to get them to his mother’s as soon as possible.

“Your timing is exquisite, Zaubermaus,” Erik said, placing a kiss on the tip of Charles’ nose before gently pushing him in the direction of the table in the dining room.  “Go sit down,” he told him, “breakfast is ready.  And if we don’t eat quickly we’re going to be late,” Erik told him, following with the plates, placing the one with just barely noticeably larger pancakes and the extra slice of bacon in front of Charles.

“Late?” Charles asked, eyebrow sneaking upwards.  “What on earth for?  I’d have thought we would spend the majority of the day…” his lips quirked into an utterly filthy smirk, “indisposed.”

Erik let his gaze fall to his plate taking a deep breath as Charles laughed beside him.  He kicked Charles’ chair, which only seemed to exacerbate the problem.  “You are impossible,” he growled out, meeting Charles’ mirth filled eyes and feeling a fond smile creeping over his face

“Yes, but you love me anyway,” Charles responded, his tone light and teasing.

“I do,” Erik said, unable to respond with anything but complete sincerity, and Charles expression in response to that statement made it impossible for Erik to do anything except lean forward and kiss him softly.  “Now hurry up and eat,” Erik told him when he finally found the will to pull away, “if my mother doesn’t meet you soon, neither of us will ever hear the end of it.”

* * *

 

Erik remembered as he was knocking on the door that he’d been so busy since Charles’ fateful phone call three weeks ago that he hadn’t phoned his mother.  Which meant Erik was in a rather enormous amount of trouble.  It also meant that she had no idea Charles was here, or that he was here to stay.

In hindsight, Erik probably should have called ahead.

Erik glanced over to Charles, who was fidgeting with his ridiculous fingerless gloves in a way Erik knew meant he was nervous, and the fact that his teeth were imbedded in his lips only reinforced that notion.  Erik pushed his own worries aside at once (his mother would forgive him eventually, and surprising her with Charles would go a long way towards distracting her long enough for him to escape her wrath, at least temporarily) in favor of assuaging Charles’ nerves.

“Stop that,” Erik said gently, taking Charles’ hands between his own (since taking Charles’ lips between his own wasn’t an option on a public street).  “You have nothing to be nervous about,” Erik told him, rubbing Charles’ cold fingers soothingly to warm them.  “She’s going to _love_ you,” Erik said, pressing his forehead against Charles own.

“What makes you so sure?” Charles asked, staring down at their joined hands, lip still firmly between his teeth.

“You’ve very lovable,” Erik told him, squeezing his hands briefly.  “I would know.”

“You’re a bit biased, I think,” Charles said, but he was smiling now.

“That just goes to prove my point.  Ask anyone.  I am the most irascible man in the city.  Dangerous, impatient, short-tempered…the list goes on.  If you can domesticate _me,_ you can do anything.”

Charles’ lips twitched into a wan smile, and his eyes were warm, but it was clear that he was still anxious.  Erik had no more time to assuage his fears further as he heard the sound of approaching footsteps and pulled away, squaring his shoulders and bracing himself to face his mother’s wrath.

She actually did pause to use the peephole. Erik’s wasn’t quite sure how to feel about this.  On the one hand, he was pleased she was exercising some basic caution.  On the other hand…

“ _Erik Lehnsherr!”_ his mother yelled at him as she yanked the door open.

Erik winced, guilt building to nearly overwhelming levels at just the sound of his name.

“You better wince!  Weeks!  It’s been _weeks!_ ” she snapped at him, peering him over intently for signs of injury.  “I thought you were dead!  Or that something had happened to you!  And those nice boys couldn’t tell me anything because as far as they knew, nothing was wrong!”

German.  She was speaking German.  Erik was in more trouble than he had previously imagined.

“I’m sorry, Mama.  I was…busy,” he finished lamely, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck.

He took the swipe.  He deserved it.

“What on earth could be more important than your Mama’s peace of mind?  Hmm?” she asked, and her arms were crossed over her chest and her foot was tapping impatiently and Erik was in _trouble_.  “Tell me that, Erik.”

Charles cleared his throat, and Edie stopped glaring at Erik long enough for her eyes to dart in his direction before darting back to meet Erik’s own, then her entire face opening up with surprise as her eyes settled on Charles once again.

“Mama,” Erik said, taking advantage of the pause in her ranting to place a hand in the small of Charles’ back, gently guiding him towards the door, “this is Charles.  Charles, this is my mother.”

“Hello Mrs. Lehnsherr,” Charles said, and it was only because Erik had known him so long that he could spot the edges of Charles’ anxiety.  No one else would have known that the charming, polite, persona he was presenting was just that; a persona.  He held out his hand with a smile, “I’m Charles Xavier.  It’s lovely to meet you.  Erik talks about you so much I feel like I know you already.”

Mama ignored his outstretched hand in favor of wrapping her arms around him tightly, and Erik let out a bark of laughter at the look of surprise on Charles’ face.  But when Charles’ look of surprise faded to something unsure as he wrapped his arms around her in turn, Erik stopped laughing.  His chest clenched painfully in a mixture of emotions he set aside to untangle later, simply watching the two most important people in his life embrace each other.

Erik’s back straightened as he suddenly remembered where they were: on the front porch of his mother’s apartment building.  He felt exposed.  Worse, he felt like Charles and Mama were exposed.  He carefully adjusted his position so that he was between his family and the position he had long ago determined would have the best sniper sight.

“May we come in, Mama?” Erik asked, doing his best to conceal the fact he was taking careful stock of the street around them.  Judging by the expression on his mother’s face and Charles’, he had failed miserably.  “Charles’ gloves don’t have fingers,” he said, glancing down at the damning articles of clothing.

It had the desired effect.  Mama began tutting and all but dragged Charles into the house, though Charles shot him a knowing look over his shoulder as he allowed himself to be ushered inside.  Erik spared one last glance for the street around him before following after them, being sure to lock the door firmly behind him.

“Have you eaten?” Mama asked Charles, walking off into the kitchen before he had the chance to respond.

Charles shot Erik a hopeless look and Erik just shook his head.  “It’s inescapable,” Erik told him, slipping into the seat beside him and throwing his arm over Charles’ shoulder before tugging him close, smile creeping over his face as Charles melted into him as far as their separate chairs would allow.  “Now that you are in her clutches, your fate is sealed.  You might as well accept it.”

Charles glared up at him.  “This was your plan all along, wasn’t it?”

Erik grinned softly as he twirled the end of a lock of Charles’ hair between the pads of his fingers.  “Perhaps.”

“Devious,” Charles said, but his voice was more approving then censorious. 

“You don’t take care of yourself,” Erik chided him gently.  “I’m just using everything at my disposal to help rectify that.”

“You’re too skinny,” Mama agreed sagely as she slid a plate in front of Charles.  “I’m going to have to do my best to fix that before you leave.  When did you get in?  And how long are you staying?”

“Well,” Charles said, pulling up and away from Erik in order to eat, and Erik tried to tell himself it was completely irrational to be resentful of that fact.  One of the main points of this trip, after all, was to get some more food into him.  Charles carried on, oblivious to Erik’s internal debate, though the way his Mama was looking at him and covering her mouth made him suspect his episode hadn’t gone unnoticed.  “My flight got in yesterday.  As to when I’m leaving, well…” he shot Erik a glance and a smile, “I believe ‘never’ was the agreed upon timeline.”

Erik beamed and leaned down for a kiss while Mama let out a happy squeal in the background, wrapping Charles in another hug once Erik had pulled away.

They stayed until two in the afternoon, Charles and Mama talking excitedly and getting to know each other while Erik was content to simply observe, basking in the _rightness_ the situation filled him with.  He went and sat in the sunroom while Charles helped his mother with the dishes, wanting to give the two of them some time alone to chat without feeling the pressure of his presence.  It wasn’t long before Charles remerged, giving Erik an exhausted smile.

“Banished?” Erik asked, returning the smile with one of his own.

“Yes,” Charles responded with a small shake of his head.  “Your mother is…quite a woman.”

“That she is,” Erik said, eyeing Charles’ slumped shoulders with concern.  “Come here,” he said, gesturing Charles over.

Charles did and, to Erik’s surprise, sank down cross-legged on the floor before pillowing his head on Erik’s thigh.  Erik reached down and stroked his fingers through his hair gently, the fingers of his other hand just barely touching Charles’ shoulder.  He watched with wonder as Charles’ breaths slowly evened out, staring down uncomprehendingly at the man between his legs.  _I love you_ , he thought.  _I love you so much it terrifies me._   _I thought we would never have this, that I would never have you this way.  And yet here you are.  You perfect, impossible man, here you are.  Here you are and here you’re staying._ His fingers clenched in Charles’ hair, yet not so much that he was at risk of tugging on it and waking him.  _And if anyone tries to take you from me,_ he vowed, recalling that moment of panic on the stoop, _I will find you, and I will find them, and they will regret it.  Though not for very long._

At the sound of footsteps, he looked up to find his mother standing in the door, face obscured behind a camera.  Erik stayed exactly as he was, and stared into the lens, and let the thoughts he’d just been mulling through be frozen forever on film.

* * *

 

Erik once again reluctantly prodded Charles awake in the car, though the temptation to simply carry him had been even harder to resist the second time around.  Still, it was necessary, though this time it was practical considerations that swayed Erik’s thinking.  He was physically incapable of carrying both Charles and the numerous Tupperware and covered plates his mother had sent back with him.  Besides, it was best Charles napped as little as he could manage these first few days to make adjusting to the new time zone as painless a process as possible. Though Erik wasn’t sure he’d have the heart to enforce a no-napping edict, not when it came to Charles.

Still, Charles seemed to rouse himself as they journeyed up the stairs, and by the time he was standing in front of the door, he looked downright chipper.

Erik turned and stuck out his hip in Charles’ direction.  “Can you grab the keys?  My hands are a bit full.  Which reminds me, yours are waiting on the keyring for you.”

Charles, who had been in the process of reaching into Erik’s pocket, froze momentarily.

“What’s wrong?” Erik asked at once.

“Nothing,” Charles said, though he sounded dazed.  “It’s just…I have keys.  I have keys and you have keys.  We both have keys.”

“That is what usually happens when people live together, yes.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Charles said, still sounding dazed, though momentarily he shook himself and smiled up at Erik.  “Erik, we’re _living together_.”

“Yes,” Erik said, an answering smile spreading over his own face.

Charles’ grin turned from stunned and sweet into something infinitely more filthy, and that was all the warning Erik had before Charles’ plunged his hand into Erik’s pocket and wrapped his hand around something that was most definitely not the keys.

* * *

 

Charles let out a sigh.  “I should get cleaned up,” he said reluctantly, not moving from his position pillowed against Erik’s chest.

Erik said nothing, simply tightened his one-armed grip on Charles and continued tracing patterns on Charles’ back, doing his best to bury the feelings that the uneven skin underneath his fingertips evoked in him.  Now that Charles was here, now that he knew Charles would be a permanent fixture in Erik’s life, he would have to do something about that, and hopefully soon.

Erik didn’t allow those who hurt the people he loved to go unpunished.

As if sensing the dark turn to Erik’s thoughts, Charles burrowed further into his embrace, trailing his fingers along Erik’s chest in an echo of the patterns Erik was tracing onto Charles’ back.  “If I asked you,” he said at last, staring down at the pale lines and splotches that were littered all over Erik’s body, “would you tell me?”

“Yes,” Erik said at once, unhesitating.  “If I asked again…would you tell me?”

Charles took a deep, unsteady breath.

“Yes,” he said at last, unevenly on the exhale.  “Not…no names.  No dates.  But the broad strokes.  Yes.  If you really wanted to know.”

He did.  Oh, how he did.  Erik would give almost anything to know.

_Almost_ anything.

Erik leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of Charles’ head.  “Only when you’re ready,” he said, brushing Charles’ hair out of his face.  “Only if you want to.”

Charles gave him a weak but genuine smile and propped himself up to press his lips gently to Erik’s own.  He pulled back and sighed, reluctant this time.  “I’m going to go clean up,” Charles said, pushing himself slowly to his feet. 

He stretched, and Erik allowed himself to appreciate the sight.  When Charles came down from his toes and let his arms fall back to his side, he made as if to walk out of the room (giving Erik an equally delightful view of his arse) before freezing.  Erik sat up sharply.

“Charles?” he asked, voice rough with concern.

Charles burst into laughter, the kind that required he lean against the wall to support himself.  “Erik, I…”he forced out between laughs, “I don’t know where the bathroom is.”

Erik stared at him for a moment before joining in the laughter.  He slipped out of bed.

“Come on,” Erik said, taking Charles’ hand in his own and allowing a heated smirk to work its way over his face.  “I’ll show you.”

* * *

 

When Erik woke the next morning, it was to empty arms and cool sheets.  He shot upright immediately, heart beating furiously in his chest as scenario after scenario chased its way through his mind, each of them centered around the fact that Charles was _gone_.  Erik threw himself out of bed gracelessly, not bothering to pull on clothes for all that the chill air in the loft soon had Goosebumps rising along his bare skin.

The long, unsteady strides he took out of the bedroom and into the main area of the loft weren’t quite a run, but they were close.  He’d calmed somewhat, now that his brain had been cleared of the fog of sleep –thanks to the sharp spike of adrenaline he’d experienced so soon after waking up- and had come up with several less dire explanation for Charles’ absence than those that had been circling through his head initially. Charles had likely woken up long before Erik had, still adjusting to the new time zone and had decided to get up. There didn’t have to be anything more in play, Erik scolded himself firmly.    

Charles wasn’t in the kitchen.  He wasn’t at the dining room table.  He wasn’t sprawled out on any of the furniture in the living room.  The door to the empty bathroom was open.  Erik felt his anxiety spike sharply, visions of Charles deciding this was a terrible idea and sneaking out in the early morning hours and of Charles out for an early morning stroll snatched off the streets dancing in his mind’s eye and making him feel physically ill.

_Don’t be an idiot_ , he chided himself at once, forcing himself to take deep breaths and work past his instinctive panic.  _Charles would never leave you like that, not without a conversation or a note.  And he’s never left you alone before to go out without leaving behind a message of some sort to that effect._

“Charles?” Erik called, voice still unsteady despite his attempts at calming himself.

“In the study!” a muffled voice called back, and Erik felt himself sag with relief even as he shook his head and laughed at himself.

The study.  Of course.  How could he even have considered that Charles might be anywhere else?

“Just let me put on clothes and I’ll be right there,” Erik called back, making his way back to the bedroom, glad for the moment it would provide him to get himself back together after the emotional upheaval of the past few minutes.  The instantaneous switch from terror and anxiety to relief had left him feeling unsteady.

Charles poked his head out from behind the study door and gave Erik a once over coupled with a mischievous grin.  “Do you have to?” he asked with a slow smirk.

Erik rolled his eyes.  “It’s cold, Charles.”

“I could keep you warm,” he offered, smirk only growing more pronounced.

“If you wanted morning sex you should have stayed in bed!” Erik called over his shoulder, and Charles laughed.

Smiling, Erik made his way back into the bedroom.  He didn’t feel bad about how he had responded to Charles’ teasing.  It was just that; teasing.  Erik knew from long experience there was very little that could dissuade Charles from going after what he wanted in the bedroom.  Yesterday had been a prime example of that.  Shaking his head with a fond grin at the memory, Erik turned his attention to preparing for the day ahead.

Since he did plan on leaving the apartment, the loose sweats he wore to bed when it got colder were out.  He settled instead for a pair of jeans and a grey button-up (tailored, of course.  They all were).  He grabbed his Cartier watch from the nightstand and buckled is onto his wrist one-handed with the ease of long practice. 

The bathroom was the next stop.  Erik went through his morning routine quickly, brushing his teeth and washing his face.  He ran his hands over the stubble on his face that had grown since Charles had arrived two days before, eyeing himself critically in the mirror.  His gaze fell on his razor, but then he remembered the red scrapes his stubble had left on Charles and the way he had moaned when Erik’s cheek scrapped against all that pale skin.  Erik settled for trimming and tidying the hair in question instead.  After that he slapped on some cologne on (the one he knew Charles liked), ran a comb through his hair and after a brief examination in the mirror, considered himself ready to face the day.

One quick detour later and Erik was pushing open the door to the study.  As soon as he opened the door though, his heart was in his throat.  Charles had a box open in front of him and a roll of tape in his hands, and several already packed boxes strewn around him.

“Are we moving after all?” Erik asked, trying to process this in a way uninfluenced by his irrational fears from earlier in the morning.

Charles rolled his eyes, “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, almost as if he was reading Erik’s thoughts, “not all of these books were intended for home.  Many of them are for my office, and I want them to be ready to go when the time comes.”

Something that had been coiled tight in Erik’s chest from the moment he woke alone in bed loosened abruptly.

“Can I help?” he asked.

“Oh no,” Charles said, glaring at him sharply.  “You stay away from me.  I know what kind of _help_ you’re thinking about providing and I would actually like to be _productive_ today thank you very much.”

“Is that why you’re all dressed up with no place to go?” Erik asked, gaze sweeping over Charles in his khaki slacks, white button up with the sleeves rolled up, blue tie and mustard-colored sweater vest.

“I have someplace to go,” Charles responded.

Erik couldn’t resist.  His camera soon found its way in front of his face, lens pointed at Charles as it so often had been in the last four years.  Charles’s only response was to roll his eyes fondly before sticking a hand in his pocket, a gesture Erik knew meant he was feeling self-conscious.  The other hand fiddled with the tape he still grasped.

“As soon as the packing’s done, we’re taking this all to my office and _unpacking_ it, or at least starting to.”

Erik snapped a picture before approaching Charles slowly, like a predator stalking his prey.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Charles said.  “You stop that right now.  Sit down and _behave_ ,” he told him, gesturing with the tape to the red chair in the corner of the study.

Erik snapped another picture and took one more step forward, pushing Charles’ boundaries just to see exactly how much he could get away with.  Today, at least, it seemed it wasn’t much.  Sighing, he lowered his camera and sat himself down in the chair that had been indicated, trying not to feel too put out.

“Any particular reason for this sudden fit of productivity?” Erik asked some time later, watching as Charles meticulously studied the shelves, picking and choosing texts in a way that seemed random to Erik.

“This needed to be done,” Charles said with a shrug, but Erik could tell from his expression that that wasn’t all.  He simply waited, knowing it was only a matter of time and a steady stare before Charles would elaborate.  “I needed to _do_ something,” he said, “I…I needed it to stop feeling like a vacation and to make it start feeling real.  Start feeling permanent.  Because I still don’t believe it.  I still don’t believe that after all these years, I’m finally here with you.  That you’re finally here with me.  Dinner with your mother and fantastic sex all day long…that’s not real.  That’s something we could have done any time these past four years.  But packing books and moving boxes, setting up an office…not just _an_ office, but _my_ office.  That’s real.”

Erik’s heart clenched painfully and he was across the room in a matter of seconds, cupping Charles face in his hands.

“This is real,” he told him, staring into those beloved blue eyes.  “I’m having as much trouble believing it as you are, but this is real.  And if you need us to do manual labor to believe that, then pass me the tape.”

Erik bent down and pressed his lips to Charles’ own.

“And if you still don’t quite believe it,” he whispered when they pulled apart, “that’s fine too.  Because you have every day from now until we die to recognize that this is real.”

* * *

 

Charles started teaching and Erik went back to work and their days began to fall into something of a routine.  To Erik’s increasing exasperation, finding people sitting at his dinner table sharing a cup of tea with Charles when he came home was slowly becoming a part of that routine.

That didn’t stop him from freezing in surprise when he saw that the person in question this time around was his right-hand woman.

“Raven?” Erik asked sharply.

She jerked around from where she had been sitting, giving Erik a guilty wince.  She was young, he knew, but there was no one he trusted more by his side or at his back.  But Erik’s work life and his home life had no business mixing, and he did his best to keep what he did from touching Charles any more than absolutely necessary.  And for all that Erik considered Raven a friend, she most definitely fell into the work category.  He’d told her that in explicit terms.

If she didn’t have a good reason for going against orders, heads would roll.

“Erik!” Charles crowed, seemingly oblivious to Erik’s tension and the rage slowly building in him, but the way he rose at once and insinuated himself in Erik’s space and wrapped his arms around him made Erik suspicious, for all that he melted anyway.

“I see you’ve met Raven,” Erik said, shooting a glare over Charles’ shoulder before bending down to kiss Charles hello.

“Yes I have,” Charles agreed cheerfully.  “She came here looking for you and tried to leave when I said you weren’t here yet, but I insisted she stay and have a cup of tea while we both waited for you.  She’s a delightful girl.  It’s very inconsiderate of you to have been keeping us apart.  But now that you’re here, I’ll just head to the study so you two can talk business, hmm?  Raven, I do expect you to stop by again.  It was lovely chatting with you,” he told her, walking over to her and giving her a hug and a kiss on the cheek before walking down the hall toward the study.

Erik rolled his eyes heavenward.  Raven, it seemed, was going to become a regular in his kitchen.  Like Alex had, and Darwin, and two of Charles’ students, the brilliant if timid Hank McCoy and the seemingly airheaded Sean Cassidy (both of whom Erik had of course vetted thoroughly and had come up with precisely zero reasons to object to, much to his displeasure).  If Charles had felt comfortable enough to initial physical contact with her after one conversation, something he had grown to recognize that was difficult for Charles (which Erik in turn attributed to scars from the nameless stepfather, though this time the signs left behind were not quite as obvious as the evidence on Charles’ back) Erik really couldn’t even dream of objecting.

That didn’t stop him from glaring viciously at Raven as he stalked his way over to _his_ table before sinking down into his habitual seat.

“Your reasons for looking for me at home better be fucking fantastic Raven,” he snarled.  “I thought I made myself _very_ clear on my stance on work following me here.”

“You put me in charge of his protection,” Raven said, meeting his glare with one of her own, and Erik felt his temper spike at that sign of aggression.  “My meeting him at some point was inevitable.  But,” she said hastily after seeing his expression and interpreting it correctly, “that isn’t why I’m here. Well it is, but…”

“Spit it out,” Erik growled.

“It’s Shaw,” she said simply.  “He’s been nosing around more than he should be.  His men and Charles’ protection detail have had enough run-ins for it to be more than coincidence.”

Shaw.  Shaw who had threatened Erik’s family once before by pulling a gun on his mother.  The fact that it had been a misunderstanding was the only reason Shaw had escaped with a bullet to the shoulder instead of the head or the chest.  Still, after that incident, for all that they were never exactly enemies, no one would have called them friends.  “Rivals” was the best term, but Erik had never trusted the man, and for a long time had felt as if it was only a matter of time before things came to a head in a violent and bloody fashion.

Still, Erik wasn’t about to risk an all-out war with someone like Shaw if he didn’t have to, someone who had been playing this game longer than Erik had been alive.  Especially not if Shaw might know where Charles was.

“Arrange a meeting with Shaw as soon as possible,” Erik ordered.  “I want this sorted out _now_.”

“That’s actually what I came to talk to you about; he apparently feels the same as you do.  Azazel contacted me this afternoon.  Shaw wants to meet.”

“Tomorrow morning,” Erik said, carefully not thinking about what Azazel might have done with Raven beyond contacting her.  As long as it didn’t come between Raven and her work, he had no grounds for complaint.  “Just Shaw and I, or as few others as you can talk him into bringing.  I want this resolved _now_.”

* * *

 

Erik wasn’t quite sure how it had happened and couldn’t shake the feeling that this was almost certainly a trap, but Raven said Shaw had agreed to meet him alone in Central Park the next morning.  It seemed far too good to be true.  It couldn’t be this easy.

Still, Erik was a man of his word, and Shaw was many things, but a liar was not one of them.  He showed up to the appointed bench alone bright and early the next morning, several hours in advance of their pre-arranged meeting time.  Vigilance, he thought, along with early arrival, would hopefully help him work around anything Shaw or his people might be planning.

When he saw the older man making his way to the bench at the same time, he would have laughed had the circumstances been different.  Instead he offered Shaw a respectful nod of the head, which the man returned.

They didn’t waste time on pleasantries or small talk.  While Shaw might have been one to indulge in social niceties for the sake of appearance, he also was a very direct man, and Erik’s mother politely called him “blunt”.  They sat on opposite ends of the bench in unison, and Erik wove his fingers together in his lap in an attempt to curtail some of his more obvious tells.

As much as it galled him to do so, Erik waited for Shaw to make the first move.

“You and I,” Shaw said, his gaze flickering over the park in what might have looked idle consideration to anyone else but Erik knew was in reality a very thorough and systematic examination of their surroundings, “have a lot in common, Lehnsherr.  And in fact, with one glaring exception, we’ve always gotten along fairly well.”

“The glaring exception involved you threatening my family,” Erik pointed out, trying to keep his breathing even.  “I don’t take such threats well.”  Here Erik finally allowed his gaze to meet Shaw’s, his jaw clenched tightly.

“We’re family men, you and I,” Shaw said simply, meeting Erik’s glare with an unreadable, bland expression.  “We’d both do anything to protect the people we love, regardless of the consequences.  That’s something we have in common.”

“I thought it was, yes,” Erik answered, jaw clenching even harder.

“It’s why I’m here talking to you, instead of simply solving the problem outright.  Because I thought that you, of all people would understand.”

“Understand what?” Erik said through clenched teeth, doing everything he could to keep himself in check.  Now was not the time to lose his temper, not with Charles on the line.

“That family is the most important thing.  And the lengths someone would be willing to go to in order to protect it.”

Erik clenched his hands together so tightly that his fingers turned white.  So Shaw was after leverage, then.  It might have worked, too.  If he’d waited until he actually had Charles to try and pressure Erik, that was.

“You’ve seen what I would do to protect the people I love,” Erik said, using all his limited self-control to keep from snapping at Shaw.  “The _very_ least.  There is _nothing_ I wouldn’t do to protect them.”

“What I don’t understand,” Shaw said, and Erik saw his jaw flex, “is why, knowing what you do, and feeling as you do, you would even consider using those feelings against someone.  I thought you were better than that, Lehnsherr.”  Shaw turned to him, eyes flashing.  “Because if you would do anything for your family, I think you fail to realize what I would be willing to do for mine.  I expect something like this from other people, but you?  I thought you would understand.  Or if you wouldn’t empathize, you would be smart enough to know that the consequences for threatening the people I love would be…serious.”

“They’re for protection,” Erik said without thinking as he finally understood.  “Your men are there to protect someone.” He let out a disbelieving laugh, the overwhelming relief making him giddy.

Shaw’s brow furrowed before smoothing abruptly, “You didn’t know,” he said slowly, studying Erik intently.

“I had no idea,” Erik said sincerely.

“Then what are your men…ah,” Shaw said.  “Of course.  The same thing, naturally.”

Erik nodded.

Shaw’s gaze grew calculating.  “No family aside from your mother, so who…”

This, Erik thought, might actually work to his advantage.  The criminal community had long ago cottoned on to the fact that it was…unwise to irritate in the week after his return from London.  Shaw could surely figure out what Erik might do to anyone who attempted to take the reason for that mood from him permanently.

“My… _friend_ ,” Erik settled on eventually, for all that Erik’s preference in partners was common knowledge at this point.

“Really?” Shaw said, the arching of one eyebrow his only concession to his surprise.  “I was under the impression you were rather hung up on someone overseas.”

“I am,” Erik said, smile sharp.  “The sea has ceased to be an issue.”

“Ah,” Shaw said.  “My son recently returned from his studies abroad,” he offered in a seeming non-sequitur but Erik knew better.

“I didn’t know you had a son,” Erik stated.

“Good,” Shaw said with a smile.  “I prefer it that way.”

Erik understood the unspoken threat.  “And I prefer that people not know my friend from abroad has relocated.”

Shaw nodded, and Erik felt the tension ease slightly.  Shaw would keep Erik’s secret, knowing that if he didn’t Erik would expose Shaw’s own.  Mutually assured destruction was an uneasy way to draw a truce, but it was one Erik knew he could trust.

“Not everyone is as…principled as you and I,” Erik said consideringly.  “Perhaps this misunderstanding could work to our mutual benefit.”

“Explain,” Shaw demanded.

Erik waited just long enough to remind Shaw that he wasn’t one of his subordinates to be taking orders before he did so.  “In light of what we’ve just established, I know your men aren’t a threat to mine, nor are they a threat to my friend.  And you know the same is true of my men in regards to your son.  And I assume your people and mine are on the lookout for similar things.”

Shaw nodded, eyes wary.

“I could arrange for you to be notified as well, if ever something…troubling came up.  Assuming, of course, you would be willing to do the same for me.”

Shaw considered Erik for a moment, and Erik met his gaze unflinchingly.  At long last he inclined his head in agreement.

“With that settled,” Shaw said, “I think we’re done here.”

They rose, in unison once again, and began walking in opposite directions.  When there were several yards of space between them, Erik stopped and turned around.

“Shaw!” he called at the other man’s retreating back.

Shaw stopped and simply stood for a long moment before finally turning around to face Erik.

“If you touch him, I’ll destroy you!” he shouted across the space between them.

Shaw grinned.  “Likewise, Lehnsherr.  Likewise!”

And with that, they parted.

* * *

 

Erik sat in the chair in Charles’ office that he had commandeered as his own, specifically chosen for its comfort, its proximity to the coffee table allowing Erik to prop his feet up, and its angle.  He stared up over the edge of his report (for one of his legal businesses; he wouldn’t put Charles near any incriminating evidence) and grinned at the sight of Charles looking truly at home behind his desk, stacked high with papers and books and half-drunk cups of tea.

Charles held office hours every day of the week at varying times.  Erik had made a point to try and join him on at least one of those days, if not more, depending upon his own schedule.  Having the ability to spend time with Charles at his leisure was not a luxury Erik could ever see himself tiring of.  And watching Charles in his element was a treat.  And unlike Charles, Erik was not completely oblivious.  He was aware of the fact that Charles was devastatingly attractive, and that he was never more so than when he was explaining something he was excited about.  It was one of the first things that had drawn Erik to him.

It was best, Erik thought, that none of the young people who flocked to Charles’ office got their hopes up unnecessarily.  His presence was more than enough to deter most, especially those who knew exactly who he was.  His glare was enough to deter the majority of the rest, and for those few who persevered, well. Erik could be quite intimidating when he wanted to be.  The most impressive thing about the entire situation, Erik mused as he let his gaze trail over Charles’ familiar frame and felt himself being warmed by the mere knowledge of his presence, was how completely oblivious Charles remained throughout.  He never seemed to notice when the students were attempting to express an interest in him, nor did he seem to notice when Erik did his best to… _discourage_ those attentions.

Still, Erik had a feeling Charles would notice if anything happened to one of his students.  It was irksome to have his creativity stymied in this way, but Erik would sooner cut off his own head than do anything that made Charles unhappy.

There was a sharp, perfunctory knock on the doorframe followed by the tread of footsteps upon the carpet.  Erik glanced up to glare at the newcomer, already irritated by the lack of courtesy and more than willing to make his displeasure about it known only to freeze where he sat.

Standing in the doorway was none other than Sebastian Shaw.

Erik’s heart pounded in his chest as his blood rushed through his veins.  Shaw hadn’t seen him yet, perhaps didn’t know that Erik was here.  He varied when he visited in the week for this exact reason.  This gave Erik the element of surprise, something he would need, especially with Shaw closer to Charles than he was.

For all their talk of truce and amnesty and being family men, there was only one reason Shaw could be here.

There was no time for planning, for consideration.  Erik’s gun was in his hand and pointed at Shaw before he had even processed what he was doing.  There was no plan, there was no thought; in this moment Erik was operating on a nauseating combination of anger, terror, adrenaline, and instincts.

Before Erik could act on his advantage, Shaw turned and saw him, training his own gun on Erik faster than he could think to react.

Aimed at _him_ , a part of him noted with nearly crippling relief.  Now the trick would be to make sure that that didn’t change.

No, he corrected himself.  The trick would be eliminating the threat to what he held dear as quickly as possible without any harm coming to Charles before secreting him somewhere far, _far_ away where he would be safe during the fallout.

“Shaw,” Erik snarled.

“Lehnsherr,” Shaw responded.  “I thought we understood each other.”

“So did I.  To avoid any further misunderstandings,” Erik’s hands were perfectly steady as he moved his gun from Shaw’s heart to his forehead, “If you touch him, I will kill you.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Erik heard Charles say, and for all Erik refused to take his eyes off Shaw, the temptation to look at Charles in that moment was strong.  Erik recognized that tone of voice.  It was the tone Charles used when he’d just had a breakthrough about something that had been puzzling him, his epiphany tone.

When Erik heard the sound of footsteps it took all his self-control not to glance in Charles’ direction.  Shaw, thankfully, kept his eyes firmly locked on Erik’s own.

“Don’t move,” Erik hissed in Charles’ direction.

“Charles,” Shaw said, and Erik saw red momentarily because _how did Shaw know his name_ , “it might be best if you listened to what the man said.”

“No,” Charles said as he stepped closer until he was _between_ them, forcing Erik put the safety back on his gun and change his aim so the gun was no longer pointing anywhere near Charles before reaching forward, intent on shoving Charles down behind him. “I really don’t think it would be, because then somebody might get shot and I would be _very upset_ if that were the case.”  Charles glared at Erik sternly before turning the same glare on Shaw.

Shaw, who no longer had his gun pointed anywhere near them.  Shaw, who’s normally expressionless face, was tinged with panic that was now fading into confusion.  A confusion Erik was fast becoming familiar with himself.

Charles turned around, leaving his _back to Shaw_ , and pressed a palm against Erik’s chest, shoving sharply until Erik fell back into his chair.  He then situated himself on Erik’s lap as if it were any other afternoon.

“ _Charles_ ,” someone hissed, and Erik was very surprised to discover that it was not him, but Shaw.

“Now,” Charles said, “There has been a misunderstanding here, and I shoulder the majority of the blame for that.  So, Sebastian, if you would be so kind as to sit down so I can clear that up, that would be lovely.”

Shaw (and how did Charles know his name?) did as he was told, to Erik’s extreme surprise.

“Allow me to make introductions,” Charles said.

“We’ve met,” Erik said curtly.

“Regardless,” Charles said, “you’re both going to indulge me in this.  Sebastian, this is my partner, Erik.”

Shaw’s jaw twitched.

“Erik, this is Sebastian, my father.  Well, stepfather technically, but…”

Erik didn’t hear the rest of the sentence, too absorbed in processing what Charles had just said.

Stepfather.

Charles’ stepfather had given him those scars.  Shaw was Charles’ stepfather.  There was only one conclusion to be drawn.

Sebastian Shaw was responsible for the scars on Charles’ back.

Erik’s hand twitched towards his knife.

Charles grabbed his wrist.

“Erik love, if you think I don’t know where your keep your knives after the number of times I’ve gotten you out of your clothes, you are sadly mistaken.”

Charles’s guided Erik’s hand until it was wrapped firmly around his waist, and then grabbed the other one and placed it atop it.

“Now, stay put,” Charles said firmly.

“Charles, when you told me you were moving here and, more specifically, moving in with someone, you might have mentioned that the someone in question was _Lehnsherr_ ,” Shaw said, tone and expression suddenly as pleasantly bland as ever, for all his eyes remained fixed on Erik’s own, and they were murderously intent.

Erik’s hand twitched, but before he could move Charles had it covered in one of his own.

“Erik love, if you try and take your hands off me again, I’m going to assume you don’t like touching me and have only been doing all the cuddling for my sake and, in order to soothe my pride and keep you from martyring yourself, not let you to touch me for at least a week.  During which I will, of course, be sleeping on the couch.”

Erik’s teeth gritted and his hands clenched briefly in Charles’ sweater before he allowed them to settle again.  Damn Charles.  Damn him.  He _knew_ Erik’s weaknesses, and exploiting them like this in front of Shaw was just playing dirty.  And now that he was reasonably confident Charles was in no danger of being harmed by Shaw ( _any further_ , a furious voice whispered in his head) the consequences he proposed were far too severe to risk.

“Shouldn’t the one who misbehaves be the one sleeping on the couch?” Shaw asked, and he had the gall to sound almost amused, for all that his eyes said that he found the situation as far from funny as Erik did.  “That’s the way it went for your mother and I, at any rate, Charles.”

“Yes,” Charles said, “but if the purpose is to punish him for bad behavior, the sleeping apart already accomplishes that, and my sleeping on anything other than a bed drives him absolutely up the wall.”

Shaw’s lips twitched, but the rest of his face remained impassive.  Except for his eyes, still as violent as ever as they studied Erik over Charles’ shoulder.  “As amusing as this is, perhaps we could return to the business at hand?  And speaking of couches, Charles, wouldn’t you be more comfortable on yours?  Lehnsherr’s bony knees can’t be comfortable.”

Erik bared his teeth at him at tightened his grip on Charles.  Charles patted him reassuringly and made no sign of moving, which did a great deal to soothe Erik.  As unsettled as he was, having Charles here to ground him was making the situation easier, knowing he could easily push him out of harm’s way if the need arose.

“I’m quite comfortable actually, for a number of reasons.  The most situational, however, being that I know you won’t do anything to Erik with me in the way, and for all that Erik could still get into trouble by aiming around me, the ban on touching should he do so should be enough of a deterrent,” Charles said, using the hand that wasn’t placed atop Erik’s to pat at Erik’s thigh.

Under normal circumstances, it might have presented a problem.  As it was, it only increased Erik’s desire to have Shaw out of the room and away from Erik’s Charles.  The feeling of being exposed was far too great, and Erik was still convinced that Shaw was a threat.  Had evidence to support that fact pressed up against his chest, as it happened.

“What do you want, Shaw?” Erik snapped, eager to speed things along and get the man _gone_ as soon as possible.

“Well, initially I dropped by to tell Charles that people had been asking after him and to ask when I would finally be introduced to the man in his life,” Shaw said, and the smile on his face was disturbing in how seemingly genuine it was, yet Erik could tell there was nothing behind it but animosity as they maintained eye contact.  “But clearly that is no longer necessary.  Though this does clear up a good deal about why he was so reluctant to introduce us.”

“In my defense, I was actually unaware that the exact nature of Erik’s business would create this issue.  My concern was more one of doing my best to prepare you both to avoid bloodshed, though at the time I was fairly certain it was going to be metaphorical.”

Shaw’s eyes, which had drifted to Charles and warmed noticeably, jerked back to Erik, the cold anger all the more impressive for what Erik had seen in them just a moment before, “You moved him here, dragged him into this, and didn’t see fit to tell him?”

“I tried,” Erik snapped, and his fingers twitched against Charles’ sweater again as he fought the urge to reach for his knifes, helped by the way Charles’ hand tightened over his own.  “Repeatedly.  He wouldn’t let me.”

“Despite what the two of you like to think” he said, turning his head so he could glare at Erik before facing forward, hopefully to impart the same expression to Shaw, “I’m not as oblivious as you seem to think I am.  And after growing up…in the household that I did,” Charles said, stuttering slightly in the way that Erik knew meant he was talking around something, and Erik’s eye narrowed as he shifted himself so he could see Charles’ face, unwilling to miss any more clues, “it wasn’t difficult for me to put the pieces together.  And when Erik tried to tell me, I stopped him, because unfortunately our situation is not one that marital privilege covers.  Ignorance then, was the next best thing.”

“Charles,” Erik said, feeling off balance and like he couldn’t get enough air in his lungs.

Charles looked at Erik, his expression unbearably fond, before leaning down and pressing a quick, chaste kiss to the tip of Erik’s nose.  “Yes, you ridiculous man.  I feel the same way you do.  Or do you think I moved away from England for you on a whim?”

Erik leaned forward, only to freeze at a sharp, pointed cough.

Shaw.   He’d forgotten about Shaw.

“I would have given you a bit more warning,” Charles said, his tone a mixture of sheepish and apologetic, “but I honestly had no idea you moved in the same sort of circles.”

“Well, now that that’s been established,” Shaw said, getting to his feet, “Lehnsherr, I think you and I should have another conversation about how that will affect the circles in question.”

“Yes,” Erik said, hand slipping to Charles’ back as he rubbed soothingly above where he knew one of the scars lay, “I think another conversation would sort things out nicely.  It’s one I think is long overdue as a matter-of-fact.”

* * *

There was a conversation they needed to have, Erik knew.  Several in point of fact.  But not now.  Instead he wrapped his arms around Charles as tightly as he could, burying his face in Charles’ shoulder and breathing heavily, attempting to ground himself.  Intellectually, he knew now that Charles was never at risk.  But that didn’t change the fact that he spent several long minutes absolutely terrified that Charles was about to be taken from him in the most permanent fashion right in front of him and Erik could have done nothing but watch.

No doubt sensing the way Erik’s thoughts were turning, Charles leaned back against Erik’s shoulder and brought his hand up and back to run his fingers soothingly through Erik’s hair.

“I think I can call it a day,” Charles said softly.  “Shall we head home?”

Erik took several deep breaths before he could find it in himself to answer.  “I think I need a minute,” he said at last.

Charles simply let out a hum of agreement while continuing to run his fingers through Erik’s hair and Erik immersed himself in the smell of Charles and the feeling of him in his arms as he tried to convince himself that Charles was still here.  Several minutes later, he took one last shuddering breath before loosening his grip around Charles’ waist.

“Good?” Charles asked.

“Better,” Erik corrected.  “Good enough for now.  Let’s go home.”

When they reached the car, Erik gripped Alex by the shoulder and whispered a few angry words in his ear.  Some to work on establishing a place to meet Shaw.  Others to deal with the fact that the man in question had managed to make it all the way to Charles’ office without Erik learning about it.  Critical tasks accomplished, Erik followed Charles into the vehicle and pulled him close as soon as they both were settled.

Erik didn’t release him for the entire ride back to the apartment, ignoring the worried look Alex was throwing him in the rearview mirror in favor of burying his face in Charles’ hair and his hands just barely under the edge of Charles’ shirt so he could feel his bare skin under his palms.  Erik knew that under all this desperation and need for reassurance there were other things waiting, but those emotions could do just that — wait.

He kept his fingers firmly entwined in Charles’ the entire trip up to their floor, not caring who might see them when they were outside the protection of the car and before they reached the sanctuary of their loft.  He simply couldn’t help himself. Erik had Charles pressed up against the wall before the door had fully closed behind them, lips pressed together in a desperate kiss.

It was only once they were lying in bed tangled together, Erik having reassured himself that Charles was still there in the most intimate, physical way possible that his blinding terror began to recede.  In its place, as Erik stared down at the scars on Charles’ back, other things began to rise.  Erik couldn’t look away from them.  Not now.  Not when he had met the man who had inflicted them.  Not now that he could finally, _finally_ have his revenge on the man who had looked at something so precious, so perfect, and damaged it.

Erik took a deep breath, taking the protective, righteous rage that was swelling within him and locked it carefully away.  His anger was a terrible, terrible thing, and was something he hoped to never expose Charles to.  Instead he took Charles hand where it rested on his skin and moved it until it rested on one of the thicker lines of silvery skin that were dotted all over Erik’s body.  Charles looked up at him, a mix of curiosity and confusion in his gaze even as he stroked his fingers comfortingly along the long line.

“My employer at the time and his business rival had a…disagreement,” Erik said, choosing his words carefully.  “I was sent to resolve the dispute.  Negotiations were…fierce, shall we say, as well as off the cuff.  Broken bottles aren’t to be underestimated, or so I learned that day.”

Erik took Charles’ hand and guided it to the various marks strewn around his body, explaining their origins one by one.   He ended with the scar on his lip, and when was done, he brought Charles’ hand to his mouth and slowly kissed it before releasing it at last.  Charles simply moved it to the side of his face, cupping it gently as he looked deep into Erik’s eyes.

“Thank you for telling me Erik,” he said.  “But why now?”

“You wanted to know,” Erik said simply, turning into Charles’ palm.  “And since I know where your scars come from now, I thought it was time you knew the same about mine.”

Charles’ brow furrowed in confusion.

“I met your stepfather this afternoon,” Erik said simply.

Charles’ face instantly transformed from confused to horrified.  “Oh, Erik…no.  God, no.  Sebastian never…Erik _no_.  He’s like a father to me.  He never…”

“You expect me to believe you have more than one stepfather?” Erik asked, doing his best to keep his anger under control.

“Yes,” Charles said, sitting up and placing a hand on Erik’s chest, though wether it was meant to be calming or restraining, Erik never knew.  “I…” Charles took a deep breath, brushing his hair back from his face before a determined look came over his features.  He took a deep breath before beginning.  “My father died when I was young.  Very young.  Only six or so.  I barely remember him.  My mother…she didn’t like being alone.  She remarried almost at once.  Her second husband…wasn’t a nice man.”  Charles took a deep breath.  “If you know Sebastian, then…well, then you’re probably familiar with him too.  Kurt Marko.”

Erik’s heart stopped.  He did know Marko.  And he knew enough about the man to know that he was exactly the sort to enjoy creating the kind of scars that were all over Charles’ body.  His son, a few years Erik’s senior, would undoubtedly have delighted in it too.

“He…well…I never told anyone, you know.  But my mother eventually figured out that he only married her for her money, and so she crawled out of the bottle long enough to leave him.  And then she met Sebastian.  And I…I was so scared at first, Erik.  But…but it wasn’t like it had been with Kurt at all and…he got my mother sober and he would ask me how my day was and care about the answer and taught me how to play chess when it was clear I wasn’t interested in baseball and made sure I knew how to defend myself.  He cared.  He loved me.  And when I stopped believing it was all too good to be true…when I started thinking it might be real…” Charles took an unsteady breath, tears pooling in his eyes. 

Erik reached out to brush them away with his thumb before tugging Charles down into a tight embrace.

“I love him like the father he’s been to me,” Charles said at last.  “Sebastian gave me a family and gave me back my home.  And Erik, I know you and he might be business rivals, but I just…you’re both so important to me…”

“Shh, Zaubermaus,” Erik said, pressing a kiss to Charles’ forehead.  “I understand.  I do.”  Erik brushes his hair back from in front of his face.  “I’m sure we can find some common ground.  We have before.  And we do have the most important thing in common.”

“What’s that?” Charles asked.

“We love you,” Erik said.

Charles grinned at him weakly and gave him a wet kiss before settling down to sleep.

Erik didn’t.  Instead, he stared up at the ceiling until the early hours of the morning, and he began to plan.

* * *

 

When Charles called in sick the following morning, Erik was quick to do the same as well.  Normally getting Charles to agree not to go to work was a vicious battle.  For him to volunteer to do so, meant something serious was going on.  As soon as Charles had hung up the phone, Erik reached across him to pick it up again, pulling Charles’ flush against him as he did so.

“Raven?  I won’t be coming in today.  Cancel or reschedule anything that I was meant to be involved in.”

“Is something wrong?” she asked, the concern in her voice apparent.

Erik glanced down at the man in his arms, wondering the same thing himself.  Before he could answer her with the planned “I’ll let you know,” Charles looked up at him and smiled.

“No,” he told her as he returned Charles’ grin with one of his own, “nothing’s wrong.  Just taking a personal day.”

Erik could practically hear Raven rolling her eyes on the other end of the line but she knew enough not to say anything.  “Is that all?”

Erik paused, considering.  The thought of asking her to put him in touch with Shaw was tempting, but…no.  This was not something to be done through channels.  He could trust Raven’s discretion, he knew that much, but he had no such assurances regarding whoever it was who would be on the other end of the line.

Erik glanced down at Charles again.  Nothing was worth that risk.  He’d simply find another way.

“That’s all for now,” he said gruffly before hanging up the phone.

“Erik,” Charles said with an admonishing look, “that was rude.”

“Yes,” Erik agreed soberly.  “Yes it was.”

Charles burst into laughter, and Erik couldn’t resist the impulse to kiss him into silence.

“May I ask why it is we’re taking a personal day?” Erik asked when he pulled away. “Not that I’m complaining, mind,” he added, pressing another kiss to Charles’ lips simply because he could.

“There are still some things from yesterday we need to talk about,” Charles said.  “And I figured it was best we didn’t waste any time in hashing it all out.”

A few minutes later, armed with a mug of coffee and a cup of tea, Erik and Charles settled down on the couch in the living room to talk.  Erik clenched the handle of his mug rather more firmly that necessary, feeling wrong-footed.  He and Charles had never had a fight before, not really.  And while he didn’t think that was what this was, it was close enough to leave him feeling unsure as to how to proceed.  Oh, they’d shouted and argued before, there was no question about that.  But they generally put those feelings aside as best they could in the aftermath; they had precious little time together, and to waste any of it on fighting always seemed preposterous.  The issues were instead hashed out in the letters in the intervening months between visits.

Letters were good.  Letters could be thought out, each word could be carefully selected and examined for all nuance before being written.  Letters could be drafted time and time again until the thoughts that they meant to convey were organized perfectly.

Spoken words, though…

Charles curled up against his side, tucking himself into the crook between Erik’s neck and collarbone.  “Don’t be like that,” Charles said as he prodded Erik gently.  “Honestly Erik, if anyone has anything to worry about in this conversation, it’s me.”

Erik forced himself to try and relax, all while shooting Charles a look.  While it was true that there were some things Erik felt he needed to hear more about, the fact that Charles thought he was in a position where he had to worry was downright ridiculous.

Charles laughed at that.  “See?  Nothing to be anxious about at all in that case.”  He took a sip of his tea, and Erik used the time to try and compose himself a little further, and pulling Charles even more tightly up against him. “Now,” Charles said as he lowered his beverage once again.  “I imagine you have some questions for me, so why don’t we start there.”

“You seemed surprised by the reaction your…” Erik’s stomach turned at the word stepfather and all the connotations the word had in connection to Charles and changed tracks, “the reaction Shaw and I had to seeing one another.  I know you have some idea of what I do, so why were you so surprised?”

In light of this new insight into Charles’ childhood, that inference on Charles’ part now made much more sense.  Erik had thought he was being careful, but if Charles had grown up around Marko and Shaw, he would know the signs well enough not to have trouble recognizing them.

“I knew…know,” he corrected himself, “what it is you do in very general terms.  And it was also very clear from our interactions that whatever business you were involved in, it was yours.  That is, that you were your own boss.  I knew what you did was shall we say…less than legal, but given your age…it never occurred to me that you and Sebastian might be in the same circle.  That you would be aware of him was something I was fairly confident of but that he would be aware of you as well was…unexpected.  Which reminds me.  I know the two of you are both ridiculously overprotective, but the scene in the office seemed a little extreme.”

Erik let out a long sigh.  “The men we have looking after you…”  Charles’ expression was not surprised, but it wasn’t happy either.  Clearly he was used to this sort of treatment from Shaw.  Good.  “They kept running into each other to a degree that we both felt threatened.”

Charles paled.

“We talked,” Erik reassured him.  “Before either of us did anything…impulsive, we did talk.  And sorted out our ‘misunderstanding’,” Erik couldn’t help but snort, “or at least we thought we had.  Regardless, seeing each other there…I know I, at least, jumped to the worst possible conclusion.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about Shaw sooner?”

Charles grimaced.  “To be honest, as first I didn’t want to scare you away.  And when things were…the way they were, for so long, there didn’t really seem to be a point.  As to why I waited after the move, well…I knew you would know him, you see.  And I wanted more time to prepare both you and Sebastian.”

Shaw, Erik realized at once, shouldn’t need to have been prepared.  Shaw should have known about Erik’s liaisons with Charles _years_ ago.  And while on the one hand he was grateful to whoever had been responsible for Charles’ protection on some level for their neglect, which had allowed the relationship to occur in the first place, the thought of Charles being left vulnerable made Erik’s blood boil.  If Erik could conduct a four-year affair without Shaw’s knowledge, what else might have slipped past?

Erik vowed to bring this to Shaw’s attention, and to have a word with his own man who had been tasked with Charles’ protection.  If there was negligence on that end as well, it would be…dealt with.

While Erik had been thinking, Charles had been running his finger round and round the edge of his teacup. The kind of fidgeting Erik knew he only did when nervous.  Erik reached out and gently took the cup from him, placing it carefully on the end table next to his own forgotten mug of coffee, before taking Charles’ hands in his, running his thumbs along Charles’ hands in soothing circles.

“What is it, Zabermaus?” Erik asked him.

Charles took a deep breath, breathtaking blue eyes darting up to meet Erik’s before his gaze fell to their joined hands.  “I…I’ve been thinking about something else that came up yesterday.  And I thought I should clarify it.”  His gaze met Erik’s now.  “You are…Erik, I cannot imagine myself being with anyone but you.  The path we took to get to this point was by no means an easy one, but I would not change a single step in it for anything in the world, because it brought us here.  I love you.  I would love you anywhere, be it up here in this penthouse or down on the streets.  I want to coddle you when you’re ill and grudgingly tolerate your mother-henning.  For all the days of my life, I…” Erik’s chest was tight, and at the sight of Charles’ face and too-bright eyes as he took a deep breath he felt his own eyes begin to water, “Erik, I love you.  I love you and I want to be with you for better or worse, forever.”

Erik leaned forward and kissed him deeply.  “I want that too.  Of course I want that too.  I…I want you by my side.”

“A marriage,” Charles said in an unsteady voice, “is just a contract between two people.  A commitment.  And…we want the same thing, yes?”

“Yes,” Erik said firmly, reaching out and brushing Charles’ tears away with his thumb.  “Oh my love, yes, we do.”

Later, they went out and bought the rings and Erik’s mother said the seven blessings for them, but it was this moment that Erik remembered as his wedding.

* * *

 

They met in an upscale bar on neutral territory whose owner owed Erik a favor.  Charles worked late in his lab on Tuesday nights, so they’d have plenty of time for discussion without Charles wondering where Erik was.

Erik arrived ten minutes early and his lips twitched in something that might have been a smile under other circumstances at the sight of Sebastian Shaw, impeccably dressed as always, waiting for Erik in a secluded booth in the rear corner, settled in enough to have been waiting for what Erik would venture a guess was no fewer than ten minutes already.  It didn’t surprise Erik in the slightest; he would have done the same in Shaw’s place and a week ago the efforts would have been wise precautions, for all that they wouldn’t have done anything to prevent Erik from carrying out his plan to avenge Charles’ injuries.  Now though, they were unnecessary.  Erik really did just want to talk.

Erik crossed the room and slid into the booth across from the man who was, for all intent and purposes, essentially his father-in-law.  The thought left a bad taste in the back of his mouth, but he loved Charles, and Charles loved the man in front of him, so Erik was going to do his best to make this work.  For Charles’ sake.  There was almost nothing he wouldn’t do for Charles’ sake.

“Sebastian,” Erik greeted him, the quick flash he offered him less of a smile and more a baring of teeth.

“Why are we here, Lehnsherr?” Shaw asked him.

The man was far too calm and collected to ever display his emotions overtly, but Erik could tell that underneath that smooth exterior he was far from pleased.

“Because I’m going to destroy Kurt Marko,” Erik offered as he threw his hat down on the table.  “And I thought you might like to help me.”

Shaw stared at him intently for a long minute.  “And why,” he said at last, “would I do something like that?”

“For the same reason I would, or so I imagine,” Erik offered, struggling to keep himself impassive.  It wouldn’t do for any watchers to see him lose his cool, and he wanted to try and match Shaw’s level of detachment.  This man was going to be a part of his life as long as Charles was, which meant until the day he died, and Erik didn’t want to lose face with him.

“I don’t have all day,” Shaw said, a small tick at the corner of his jaw the only sign he was not as impassive as he appeared.  “If you think for even a moment you can use the fact that you are fucking my son to manipulate me into being your dogsbody, you won’t have long to live.”

Erik’s lips twitched.  The idea was just too amusing to consider seriously.  “Shaw, I was with Charles long before I knew he was your son.  Which, incidentally brings us back to the matter at hand.”  Erik took a deep breath to keep himself calm.  “Did you know,” he asked, struggling to keep calm, “that Charles has scars on his back?”

Shaw froze, eyes going cold as ice.

Erik reached over and unclasped his briefcase, pulling out his binder slowly and making sure that Shaw could clearly see what he was doing the entire time.  Charles would be upset if Erik was shot, and even more upset if he had to shoot Charles’ father figure in response.  He placed the binder on the table and flipped it open, hearing Shaw’s sharp intake of breath as he saw who the subject of the photos Erik was so well known for.

“I told you,” Erik said, looking up to find Shaw studying him, his expression unreadable, “I was with Charles long before I knew the two of you were connected.”  He flipped to the page he wanted without looking.  He flipped the book around and pushed at Shaw.  “ _This_ is why I want the Markos destroyed.”

Shaw looked down at the photograph of Charles and his jaw clenched and his eyes hardened, hand curling into a fist on the tabletop.  For Shaw, who was legendary for being completely unphasable, to react in _any_ way, said a great deal about how the photos were affecting him.

“If I had known…” he said at last, tone one of barely leashed anger.

“I imagine that’s why he didn’t tell you,” Erik offered, fighting a twitch as Shaw’s fingers came down to rest on the edge of the photograph.  The photos were precious to him, and he felt exposed sharing them with someone else, for all he knew it was necessary.  “Charles doesn’t generally approve of the way we solve problems.”

Shaw’s lips twitched again.  “To put it mildly.  Though that does beg the question,” he leaned forward, fingers lacing together tightly as he placed them under his chin, “why did he tell you?”

“It’s difficult to hide these things in bed,” Erik said matter-of-factly, smirking a little at the way Shaw stiffened.  He was sleeping with Charles and had been for years.  He wasn’t going to pretend otherwise, no matter who was across the table from him.  “And for all the promises I made when he told me who was responsible, he didn’t think me capable of them at the time.”

The click of heels against the floor had Erik reaching across the table to close the binder.  Shaw arched an eyebrow, but said nothing, and Erik offered no explanation.  It was well known how protective he was of the photographs within the binder.  Up until today, only his mother and Charles had had the privilege of seeing his work, and that was because they were his most frequent subjects.

The waitress placed a martini in front of Erik and a scotch in front of Shaw, and Erik could only assume the man had ordered before he had arrived.  A smart move, but ineffective given the arrangements Erik had made.

“Don’t drink that,” Erik told him as Shaw reached for the glass.

Shaw arched an eyebrow in his direction.  “Why not?”

“Because,” Erik said, taking a sip of his own martini, “the bartender still thinks I’m trying to kill you.”

Shaw pulled his hand back.  “Poisoned?”

“Drugged,” Erik corrected.

“Why?”

“Because Charles told me his stepfather gave him those scars,” Erik said simply.  He met Shaw’s gaze, unapologetic.  “In our meeting,” Shaw snorted and Erik allowed himself a small smile.  In hindsight, it was rather amusing, “I told you that there was _nothing_ I wouldn’t do to protect him.  And I don’t allow the hurts of those I love to go unpunished, regardless of who inflicted them.  Thankfully Charles cleared up the misunderstanding, before something regrettable happened.”

“Indeed.  Why tell me?”

“Well, I already had the meeting set up,” Erik said with a shrug and a smirk before becoming serious again.  “We’re family men, you and I.  Were our positions reversed, I’d want to know.  Besides,” he said, allowing himself a sharp smile, “We should get to know each other, given that circumstances mean we’re going to be stuck with one another for the foreseeable future.  And I can’t think of a thing that would be better to bond over.  Can you?”

“No,” Shaw said, smile dangerous and eyes hard, “I really can’t.”

* * *

 

They didn’t talk there, not in public where anyone could be listening.  Instead Erik ordered Shaw a new drink from the bartender in person, explaining that circumstances had changed and that the next one, and any that come after it, really should be just drinks.  He took the first one back to the booth with him, placing it down in front of Shaw before sliding back into the booth.

“So…what now?” the man across from him asked, playing with the glass idly but, Erik, notices with a smirk, not taking a drink.

“Well, Charles isn’t due home for another,” Erik glanced at his watch, “two hours.  So I, at any rate, plan to finish my drink.  And then perhaps we could reconvene elsewhere?”

“You may have two hours, but the rest of us are not quite so fortunate.”

Erik gave a simple nod.  “These are the kinds of plans that shouldn’t be made off the cuff, at any rate.  Not if you plan to execute them properly,” Erik acquiesced.

Shaw’s jaw clenched again and his fingers tightened on the glass.  “They shouldn’t have had to be off the cuff.”

Erik agreed.  Wholeheartedly.

Shaw’s eyes narrowed.  “The picture is dated ’67.  Why are you just getting around to planning things now?”

“Oh,” Erik said, leaning back against the booth.  “I have a plan.  A very detailed plan.  The problem is that it should be the last phase in a larger operation, and until last night, I didn’t have a name.  In fact, the only reason I have a name at all is because I insinuated that you were responsible, and Charles was so upset at the thought that I might even _consider_ such a thing of you…” Erik shook his head in consternation.  He eyed his drink speculatively before taking a long sip.  “He cares about you.  A great deal.”

“And you care about him,” Shaw said.  It sounded like a statement, but there was enough dubiousness in Shaw’s tone for Erik to bristle.

Erik allowed his expression to answer for him.

Shaw’s only response was half a smirk.  “I imagine lots of people have seen that expression.”

“Not many get to see it and live,” Erik offered offhand.  He took another sip of his drink.  “Charles wants us to get along.  And whatever Charles wants…”

“Charles gets,” Shaw finished for him.

“Exactly,” Erik said with a smirk.  “With some exceptions,” allowed, bobbing his head in consideration.

“Exceptions?” Shaw asked, eyes suddenly narrowed again.

“Do you honestly think he wants us doing this?” Erik asked.  “Or any of the other myriad of things men like you and I are willing to do for those we love?”

Shaw smirked at Erik before draining his glass all in one go.  It made a sharp clinking sound as he placed it back on the table.  “Tomorrow.  You and I, we’ll discuss those things in detail.  Stop by The Hellfire Club in the morning.”

Erik did.

Which was why, not even two weeks later, Kurt Marko accosted him on his way out of the office.

Well, attempted to accost.  Erik’s men were far too good for that.  But when Erik saw exactly who it was who had attempted to catch him off guard, he waved them off.

“Mr. Marko,” Erik said, baring his teeth in what some people might have taken for a smile.  Marko knew better, if the way he blanched was anything to go by.

He soon recovered, more the pity.

“Lehnsherr!  You goddamn…”

Erik simply raised an eyebrow and Marko swallowed, no doubt remembering all the things Erik had done to people over the years for calling him unsavory names.  Not that it mattered.  Marko’s fate was sealed, and what Erik had planned for him would put every single one of those incidents to shame. 

“We need to talk,” he hissed out instead.

“This is not the place, Marko,” Erik drawled out.  “And if you wanted a meeting, this was not the way.  Everyone knows you should go through Raven.”

“Lehnsherr,” Marko was fuming.

Erik suddenly understood why it was that cats enjoyed playing with their food.  And he and Shaw had wanted Marko to see what was coming a mile away.  This was the perfect opportunity to hammer that message in even more.  In that same mindset, he gestured inside.  “Fine then, Mr. Marko.  Step into my office,” he said.

Erik settled comfortably in the chair behind his desk, legs sprawled open and grin wide.  “You wanted to talk, Marko.  So talk.”

Marko looked the worse for wear, and Erik reveled in the sight as the man turned his bloodshot eyes on Erik.

“What did I ever do to you?” Marko spat.  “What on earth have I done that could possibly justify this?”

“I’m sure it will all become clear in time,” Erik said.

Marko slammed his hands down on the desk.  “Back off, Lehnsherr.  Back off, or so help me I will make you regret it.”

At that, Erik’s limited patience ran out.  He pushed his chair back and stood, placing his own hands over Marko’s own, hard.  And then he began squeezing, slowly by increments until Marko’s fingers turned white and he heard a crack, ignoring the man’s shouting and swearing and attempts to pull back.  Probably a finger.  _Good_.

“I am going to pull your empire down around your ears,” Erik swore, still squeezing.  “I am going to tear your world apart while I make you watch before I finally get to you, and then I think, Mr. Marko, that you will find it is _you_ who will have something to regret.”

At that, he released Marko’s hands before shoving him sharply in the chest.

“You’ll pay for this,” Marko hissed at him. 

“Get out of my office, Marko,” he snapped.  “Or I’ll step up my timetable.”

With one last glance at Erik, Marko stormed out of the lab, a grimace twisting his face.

If Erik didn’t know any better, he mused, picking his binder of photos up from where he had forgotten it on the desk, he would have called it a smile.

* * *

 

Tuesday rolled around again, and Erik knew better than to try and encroach on Charles’ space on a designated lab day.  He also knew better than to expect Charles back any time before dark.  Erik tended to avoid being home until at least six on designated research days, the sight of the apartment without Charles in it was a little too close to how things had been for him to be comfortable there while he waited for Charles.  Yet he didn’t want Charles to come home to an empty apartment after a long day in the labs.  Six then, was generally the perfect time, and guaranteed he could have enough time to have dinner waiting when Charles finally walked in the door.  He had a distressing habit of forgetting to eat when he was absorbed in scientific discovery, and had missed lunch on more than one occasion as a result.

Sitting in his office, staring out over the skyline, Erik pondered what exactly to do with himself for the next hour or so.  Plans for Marko could no longer be made in isolation.  He briefly considered making his way to The Hellfire Club before discarding the idea.  There wasn’t enough time to make it worth the trip.  And he’d taken care of the day-to-day side of things a long time ago so he could better focus all his attention on Marko.

As he so often did, Erik chose to turn to his photographs.  The process had become much less bitter and much sweeter since Charles’ relocation.  It was with a fond smile that Erik flipped through the familiar pages, reliving the memories associated with each photo completely free of any sort of regret or longing. 

Until, that was, he flipped to the back of the photo album, where he kept his duplicates and the occasional negative.  There was one missing.  He had these photos at all times, he never allowed anyone else to see them, or to be near them.  He never let them out of his sight.  So when had it gone missing?

Erik’s blood ran cold. 

Marko.  Marko’s hands on his desk.  Marko’s smile as he left the room.

Praying he was wrong, Erik pushed himself to his feet, shouting as he did.

“ _Raven!”_ he shouted, ignoring the vice that felt like it was tightening around his chest.  “ _Raven get in here_!”

There was the sound of running feet, followed by Raven’s blonde head peering around his doorframe.  Her eyes met his and she blanched before stepping fully into the doorway and approaching his desk cautiously.

“Boss?” she said, sounding timid in a way that she hadn’t in a long, long time.

Erik didn’t care.

“The men you have on Charles,” Erik said, “How often are they expected to check-in?”

“Every three hours,” she said promptly.  “Sooner, if they see something suspicious.”

Erik’s fingernails dug into his palms.  Three days.  Marko had known that Charles was important to Erik for going on three days now.

“They’ve made all the check-ins the past three days promptly?” Erik demanded.

“Yes,” her brow furrowed in confusion but not wasting time asking questions, “including the last one just over two hours ago.  They aren’t due to check in for another fifty minutes.”

“Call them,” Erik demanded, “now.  Have them on Charles and armed _at all times_.  Now is not the time for subtlety,” he told her, yanking his jacket on.  “Tell them I’m on my way over and that they aren’t to leave his side until I arrive, understood?”

She nodded.

Erik didn’t bother acknowledging her as he sprinted out of the room.

And right into someone else.

Erik snarled and was reaching out to shove the lanky boy out of the way before he realized exactly who it was he hand his hands on.  Hank McCoy.  And for all that he was far more pale and frightened than Erik had ever seen him (and given how nervous Erik seemed to make the boy that was quite an accomplishment), there was something resolute there, some inner strength Hank seemed to be drawing on that Erik hadn’t seen in him before.

“Mr…Mr. Lehnsherr.  I…I need to…Professor Xavier…”

Erik’s hands, already on McCoy so as to shove him out of the way, fisted in his clothes instead.  “What about Charles? _”_

_“_ He…he wasn’t in the lab, like he said he would be, so I went into his office and…”

Erik’s hands fisted tighter in Hank’s clothes, and he lifted slightly.  “Spit it out McCoy,” Erik growled, trying to keep himself in check.

 “He wasn’t there.  But…blood.  There was a lot of blood.  And…”

Erik had heard enough.  He released Hank and _ran_.

* * *

 

Erik stood in the doorway to Charles’ office, breath forcing its way out of him in great heaving gasps.  Overturned furniture, papers cast out of their organized chaos on the desk and onto the floor, bullet holes in the walls, the bookshelves, the door…

And blood.  So much blood.

Most importantly, there was a piece of paper resting on Charles’ now cleared desk.  Held down with a small gold circle.

Charles’ ring.

Erik made his way on unsteady legs over to Charles desk and eventually gathered himself enough to sink down into Charles’ chair, staring down at the items on Charles’ desk.

Charles’ ring, the ring Erik had given him on the day he’d made Charles the promises they weren’t allowed to make before the law and their friends, but ones he’d meant all the same.  Erik exhaled unsteadily.  At least, he tried to reassure himself, the finger wasn’t inside it.

With shaking hands, Erik reached out and took the ring from where it sat on the folded piece of paper labeled with a handwritten “Lehnsherr”.  He brought the ring up to his eyes with trembling hands.  Blood.  There was blood on it.  Erik felt as if his heart was being torn out of his chest.

Ruthlessly shoving his emotions aside, Erik placed the ring in the front pocket of his jacket, not caring about the wetness he knew was seeping into his shirt and turned his attention to the note still resting on the desk in front of him, unfolding it with hands that barely shook at all.

_If you think you regret it now, wait and see what happens if you keep doing what you’re doing._

_BACK OFF_

And there was the picture of Charles that had been missing, a sticky red line across the pale throat exposed in the photo in what Erik knew to be blood.  Likely Charles’ blood at that.

Picking up Charles’ office phone with unsteady hands, he dialed a number.

“Hellfire Club,” a female voice on the other end purred.  “How can _I_ help _you_?”

“Tell Shaw,” Erik said, his voice shaking with the depth of the rage bubbling up within him, “that it’s time for him to fulfill the promise he made me in the park.  And that I’ll be waiting where we first discovered what we had in common.”

He slammed the phone down and took several deep breaths.

This wouldn’t help Charles.  This helpless, formless terror freezing Erik in place.  The sense that his chest was hemorrhaging, the tears clouding his eyes, the unsteady hands.

So Erik did what he always did best: he took the unfocused, roiling mass of emotions and channeled them straight to rage.

Staring at the blood on the carpet in front of his usual chair, it was even easier to accomplish than usual.

Too much blood, Erik realized suddenly with the clarity he had only recently obtained.  Too much for it all to come from one person, as he had initially suspected.  The bullets too, were far too numerous.  It looked like a shoot-out had occurred.  Charles’ security and the men Marko had sent to snatch him?

Erik had been at his share of crime scenes.  Had cleaned up a fair number, and had caused just as many, if not more.  He knew what these things looked like, what the marks meant, what had caused them, and the more he stared at the scene in front of him, the more sure he became that that wasn’t what had happened.

The intruders, Marko’s men, had been up against one person.  One person who had wounded, perhaps killed, at least five of those men.  With a semi-automatic that fired a 9mm bullet.  It looked like the gunman’s weapon had failed him somehow, but even after that there had been a bit of a scuffle before he was finally forced to exit the room.

Erik grinned.  Charles had always been full of surprises.

* * *

 

Shaw stormed into Charles’ office not half an hour later, his expression blank and eyes like ice. 

“Marko has Charles,” Shaw said in a voice so cold it would have sent shivers down any man’s spine.

“Yes,” Erik said simply, offering Shaw the letter and the photo, for all that he kept the wedding ring in his pocket to himself.

Shaw read the letter, his expression unreadable.  “How did he find out?”

Erik was too busy berating himself to feel threatened by the tone in Shaw’s voice.  There would be time for that later, once Charles was safe.  “He came in to talk to me, try and convince me to back off.  Saw the contents of my photo album, stole one of the duplicates that I assume had come loose,” Erik responded, gesturing to the photograph in question.

He swore and kicked the wall in frustration, only resisting the impulse to trash Charles’ office further because he knew how much Charles loved the space in question.  Then he processed the statement Shaw had made.

“You already knew.  He’s been in touch with you too.”

Shaw simply nodded, jaw clenched.

Erik swore in German and managed to confine his violent impulse to a piece of already destroyed furniture.

“He knew.  He _knew_.  I bet he thought he was killing two birds with one fucking stone.”

Shaw nodded again.

Erik ran a hand through his hair and then couldn’t stop.  “How did he find out?”

“He knew who his ex-wife had married,” Shaw said with a shrug.

“Well,” Erik said, reaching for one of his knives and letting it slide into his hand, comforted by the familiar weight of it in his hand.  “If he wanted us to stop, he certainly chose the worst possible way to go about doing it.”

Shaw’s answering smile was sinister.  “Yes.  And judging by the state of this room, he got rather more than he bargained for in the process.”

Erik smiled his most predatory grin before taking a deep breath and focusing on the issue.  “We need someone,” he said, twirling his knife through his fingers in an attempt to calm himself.  “Someone that can be…persuaded to tell us where he is.”

Erik’s blood ran cold at the expression on Shaw’s face in response to that.

“I have the perfect candidate,” he said with a grin that sent chills down Erik’s spine.

“Who?”

“Marko took my son,” Shaw said simply, “so I’m going to take his.”

* * *

 

Erik yanked his tie off with sharp, economical movements, eyes never leaving those of his prey struggling vainly against his bonds.  He threw the tie over his shoulder, not wanting to wrinkle or crumple it by holding it in his hand, as he rolled up his shirtsleeves, suit jacket and vest having been shed long ago.  He held his only remaining accessory out to the man beside him.

“Hold my tie,” he told him, free hand already reaching for his favorite knife.

Shaw stared at him coolly with an arched brow.

“It was a gift,” Erik said simply, knowing he wouldn’t have to say from whom.

It was enough.  Shaw took it without comment.

Erik rolled his shoulders, twirling the knife idly between his fingers as he eyed the man tied to the chair in front of him. It had been a long time since he’s had the chance to be on this side of an encounter like this, for all he had excelled at them.  His knife work had earned him quite a few nicknames in the early days, along with a great deal of respect.  Judging by the fear in Cain Marko’s eyes and his renewed pathetic attempts at freeing himself from the chair, those exact same thoughts were flying through his reportedly very small brain.  Erik grinned his widest and most unnerving grin and set to work.

By the time Cain had finally broken and told them where his father was keeping Charles, Erik had had to put his ear close to the man’s mouth so that he could hear him, Cain’s voice so hoarse from screaming as to be almost inaudible.  Erik almost got his ear bitten for his trouble, and he briefly contemplated pulling all of Cain’s teeth out in retaliation, but Shaw’s hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“Charles,” he said simply.

Erik pulled away at once, settling for spitting on the man.  Cain would be waiting for him later.

He had dealt with the son.  Now it was time to find the father.

* * *

Over the past week, Erik and Shaw separately had managed to whittle Marko’s forces down to a fraction of what they had been before.  They estimated that, given the losses they had incurred since their vendetta had begun, of his original organization hundred strong, he had a dozen or so men left at his disposal, and they were fairly confident that those would flee if faced with the combined forces of Erik’s and Shaw’s men.  There was no love lost between Marko and his subordinates.  This was the cost of running a business based on fear and money alone.  When the money ran out and there was something much, much scarier coming, your men had no reason not to cut and run.

Not that it would save them, Erik mused idly.  Not in the long run, at any rate.

Still, they weren’t taking any chances and they weren’t counting on that to be the case.  A small force to start, headed by Shaw and him in order to get to Charles directly and whisk him out of harm’s way before Marko could think to cut his losses.  A larger force to follow soon after, mopping up what was left of Marko’s organization and grabbing the man himself if the initial strike force failed to do so.

Erik ignored the seething mass of emotion within his gut, knowing at this point his rage was just as potentially dangerous as anything else, searching instead for that place of calmness in between that he had found with Charles.

Shaw stood beside him, checking his gun with deft hands in a way that spoke of experience, and his normally pleasantly bland expression was missing, replaced by an expression of intense concentration tinged with anger.  On anyone else it wouldn’t have warranted much attention.  On Shaw, it was downright terrifying.

This was, to Erik’s knowledge, the first time Shaw had been out on the front lines doing his own dirty work in years.  He had a plethora of people to do that sort of thing for him now.  For Shaw, it was all about the influence, the power, the prestige.  And nothing exemplified all those things like ordering someone else to do your dirty work for you while you looked on in a nice suit and an impassive expression, sipping a drink with nonchalance.

That he was abandoning all that in this moment for Charles’ sake spoke volumes about the way he felt about his stepson.

Shaw finished examining his weapon and looked to Erik.  “Shall we?”

“My men are ready and so am I,” Erik said, feeling the steely sense of otherness settle through him.  “Let’s.”

Shaw’s man cut the padlock on the warehouse and Erik’s men pulled the doors open and then everything after that was a blur of bullets and blood.  Erik shot at anything that moved and made his way through the rooms as quickly as possible, careful not to lose his footing on the slick floor beneath him.  Shaw was on his heels or at his side the entire time.

Then Erik rounded a corner and everything ground to a stop.

Charles.

Charles, sitting in, no _tied to_ , a chair, head lolling limply and clothes stained with blood.

Erik’s world was a blur of rage as he vaulted over the handrail into the slightly depressed area where Charles sat, caring neither for the drop nor the two armed guards stationed beside Charles’ chair.  By time Erik landed though, those guards had dropped as well, though they did not stand as quickly as Erik did.  They didn’t stand at all.

Erik didn’t care, only taking the time to register the lack of a threat before he sprinted over to where Charles sat.  He fell to his knees beside the chair, caring not one whit for the liquid he could feel seeping into his trousers at the knees save for the fact that it had come from Charles.  The men who had spilled it, Erik vowed, would pay for it ten times over.

Charles was awake, he saw as he reached out to take that precious face between his hands.  He grinned at Erik with bloodstained teeth, though whether that came from the cut on his lip or if he had bitten his tongue sometime in the hours Marko had had a hold of him wasn’t clear.  His nose had been broken and there was a cut across the bridge of it.  Charles’ right eye was blackened, but his eyes were as warm and as blue as ever when they met Erik’s own.

“ _Charles”_ Erik exhaled weakly, brushing his hair back from Charles’ forehead tenderly.

“Hello, love,” Charles whispered, his own voice soft but for entirely different reasons, or so Erik feared.  His eyes darted over his shoulder and his smile got a little wider, “Sebastian” he said, a delighted grin on his face.

“Charles,” Shaw said, and it was almost disturbing to see the depth of the relief on his face as he reached out to ruffle Charles’ hair in an absentminded, automatic gesture of affection.

Charles winced sharply and Shaw drew his hand back at once, his expression going shuttered as he saw the blood there.

“Sorry,” Charles croaked out.  “Had a bit of a bump on the head earlier, in my office.”

Erik couldn’t trust himself to look at Charles and keep his voice steady at the same time, so instead he reached down and pulled out his knife before reaching out towards Charles’ bound wrists to free him, only to discover most of the work had already been done.

“You’ve been busy,” he said, struggling to keep his voice even, knowing that a light tone was beyond him, as he cut the few remaining strayed strands of rope before moving on to the other hand, “Both here and at the office.  That was some impressive work there.”

“Coming from you, I should take that as a compliment,” Charles said, amusement clear for all that his voice was hoarse beyond belief.  It didn’t quite cover the pain apparent in his voice.  “But I can’t take all the credit; I had a very good, very through teacher.”

Erik hummed in a noncommittal manner as he turned his attention to the ropes that bound Charles’ feet, done with his hands.  In the process, his eyes fell on Charles’ thigh, the sight of a bloodstained hole in his trousers and a poorly tied tourniquet making Erik’s blood boil.

“I may have made myself enough of a nuisance by escaping a time or two that Kurt decided…alternative methods of keeping me in place might come in use.

Erik turned to face Shaw, not wanting Charles to see the expression on his face and needing to communicate what could not currently be said in words.  Judging by the coldness in his eyes, Shaw felt as Erik did.  Marko would pay, they were in silent agreement.  For every mark on Charles’ body, old or new, Marko would be made to pay.

“Normally I would be quite happy to see you two getting along so well,” Charles said wryly, “but under the circumstances, I think I’d rather you were back to just barely feigning tolerance.”

Erik turned back to cutting Charles’ bonds, taking the opportunity to study him carefully.  The blood dripping from his sleeve set Erik’s teeth on edge, as did the way Charles seemed to have positioned himself in the chair, clearly favoring his right side.

“Where are you hurt, Charles?” Shaw demanded, his tone that of a worried parent just bordering on frantic, but also filled with the sort of authority that brooked no arguments about the veracity of the response he expected to receive.

“My head, obviously.  I think my arm is broken, and my ribs are unhappy.  I bit my tongue at some point during the proceedings, the gunshot, the face…that’s about it.  Nothing permanent,” Charles struggled to reassure them both.  “I’ve…” he cut himself off.  “I’m going to be fine.”

Erik placed his knife back in its holster before reaching out and taking Charles’ face in his hands once again.  “Yes,” he said, and he didn’t care that his voice was shaking from the conviction in his voice.  “You are,” he told him, leaning forward to press a kiss very lightly to Charles’ forehead.

Charles would recover, he would be fine.  Erik would exorcise the demon from his past and then he would make sure that _nothing_ ever touched him again, would make sure such an example was set through Marko that no one would even dream of it.

But all that could wait.  Taking care of Charles was his first priority, now and always.

Erik’s hand slipped into the front pocket of his jacket, and he pulled the ring out.  He was already kneeling, which was appropriate.  He reached out and took Charles’ hand, careful not to brush his fingers against the deep red welts that circled his wrist.  He bent his head and pressed his lips against the back of Charles’ hand before slipping the ring onto his fourth finger.  He kissed Charles’ hand again, though did not release it.  Instead he tugged Charles’ hand forward and threw it over his shoulder before reaching out and gently sliding his right hand under Charles’ knees, doing his best not to jostle him.

That accomplished he stood, tugging Charles up against his chest, trying to find a balance between being sure Charles was secure and not wanting to hurt him.

“What,” Shaw said in a clipped tone of voice, “do you think you’re doing?”

“He can’t walk,” Erik through clenched teeth.  “And he needs medical attention.  Do you have a better idea?”

“He,” Charles said tartly, and the rasp in his voice made Erik’s chest _ache_ , “is standing right here, thank you, and doesn’t appreciate the two of you talking over him.”

“Stop talking, Charles,” Shaw ordered with parental authority.  “I don’t want you hurting your throat.”

Charles rolled his eyes, but when he met Erik’s stern expression, he sighed.

“This is going to be the worst convalesce ever, isn’t it?”

“No talking,” Erik admonished him gently.  “And yes.  I plan to coddle you to within an inch of your life.”

Charles groaned and Erik froze.

“What’s wrong?  Did I hurt you somewhere?” Erik asked, panic coursing through him at the thought.

Charles shook his head, and gave Erik a bloody grin. “Isn’t being tortured once more than enough?” Charles asked.

The words struck Erik like a physical blow.  Because that was exactly what had happened.  Charles had been tortured.  And it was Erik’s fault.

Fingers in his hair brought his attention back to Charles, and the expression in his eyes was conciliatory and concerned.  Wrong.  All wrong.  Charles’ shouldn’t be worried about Erik.  Not while looking like this.

“Come on,” Erik said softly, ignoring the question in those eyes, “let’s get you to a doctor.”

* * *

 

Erik had an…arrangement with several local doctors, and he was sure Shaw did as well.  Yet it was not to any of them Erik was planning on going, but instead to the best hospital in the area.  For all that it made Erik twitchy to have Charles so exposed after what had happened, Charles would have the best care he could receive.  And for all Erik would have preferred that care happened at home, he knew there was likely equipment that would be needed to ascertain the extent of Charles’ injuries.

Shaw, it seemed, was thinking along similar lines, or at least Erik assumed so when the man made no protest when Erik informed him of his plans.

“I’m taking him there personally, and I don’t plan on letting him out of my sight,” Erik told him after he’d settled Charles in the front seat of the car Erik kept for his own personal use.

Shaw nodded.  “I’ll stop by later,” he said, eyes fixed on Charles in the front of Erik’s car.  “There’s some…business I have to attend to first.”

Erik’s blood pounded in his veins and his ears roared, everything in him crying out for vengeance.  He reached out and gripped Shaw’s arm tightly.

“When you find him,” he said through a clenched jaw, gaze fixed on the bloodstained back of Charles’ head, “you come and tell me before you do anything.”

Shaw stared at him for a long moment, and Erik’s hand tightened around his arm involuntarily.  After a pause that lasted far too long for Erik’s liking, Shaw nodded.

The hospital, thankfully, seemed to agree with Charles’ initial assertion that he would be fine.  The doctor in charge of his case had clearly recognized Erik, and on any other day he might have found the way he fumbled through the chart either amusing or mildly irritating depending on his mood.  As it was, Erik wasn’t capable of feeling much of anything save a growing, all-consuming rage as the doctor went through an ever-growing list of injuries.

Gunshot wound.  Possible concussion.  Broken nose.  Internal bleeding from injuries to his side and back.  His right arm was broken in three places.  The blood on Charles’ sleeve had come from where the bone had pushed through the skin.  Numerous contusions all over his body, and lacerations across his back.

It was only the knowledge that Charles was in the bed on the other side of the door from where Erik stood that kept him from finding a physical outlet for the rage he could feel tearing him apart from the inside.  That after enduring all of that, Charles had had the gall to sit there and _joke_ , to pretend as if nothing were wrong…

“He _will_ recover,” Erik growled out at last, and he was sure the expression on his face made it clear what he expected the answer to that question would be and who he would hold responsible if he heard anything contrary to his expectations.

The doctor gulped, but he nodded.  “A few new scars, perhaps,” he said, stuttering to a stop when Erik snarled.  Eying Erik cautiously, he continued in an even more unsteady tone of voice than before, “but beyond that, nothing permanent.  He’ll need physical therapy, for the arm and the leg.  The only thing that has me slightly worried is the head wound.”

“How worried?” Erik snapped.

The doctor blanched, “Not very,” he stumbled over his words to reassure Erik.  “His pupils are even, he hasn’t vomited since his arrival, appears lucid, and his headache doesn’t appear to be worsening.  That said, given his general condition and the amount of blood he’s lost today, I do want to keep an eye on him.”

“How long?” Erik asked.  Now that all the tests had been performed and it had been determined that Charles’ wasn’t in need of any sort of specialized treatment or surgery that only the hospital could provide, Erik was eager to get him back home as soon as possible.

“I’d like to keep him here for at least twenty-four hours,” at Erik’s expression, he flinched before rallying and holding up a hand.  “I know that you have the resources to obtain private care, but I’d really like to keep him here.”

Erik glared at him.

“Are you willing to risk his health?” the doctor asked him, finding a backbone somewhere at long last.  “Because that’s what you’d be doing.”

The glare Erik shot him was so ferocious that all the blood drained from the doctor’s face and he took a stumbling step backwards.

“You,” Erik said, “are going to go through his chart and, to the best of your ability, tell me how each and every one of those injuries was created.  If you can’t do it, find someone who can.”

The doctor gave an unsteady nod.

“ _Go!_ ” Erik shouted at him.

The man fled.

Erik knew he couldn’t allow himself near Charles, not in this state.  He was far, far too angry, his control far too frayed.  His fist impacted sharply on the wall, but it still wasn’t enough.  He wasn’t sure anything would ever be enough.

He pressed his face against the window in the door of Charles’ room, breathing heavily and hoping that the coolness of the glass would help to calm his admittedly hot head, for all his hands were shaking with the urge to rip Marko limb from limb, to tear him apart with his bare hands.

Through the window, Erik saw Charles.  His dark hair was covered by white bandages, and his skin had gone beyond pale and into white, making his bruises all the more striking in contrast.  If it wasn’t for the steady rise and fall of his chest…

Erik swore at himself and yanked the door open violently.  He had come closer to losing Charles than he cared to think about.  He would be damned if he would let anything keep them apart now.  Especially himself.

Charles stirred as Erik shut the door behind him, and then it was all Erik could do not to run across the room to his side.  Charles shifted again, eyelids fluttering, and he let out a small groan.  Erik sank to his knees at Charles’ bedside, not wanting to risk jostling him and causing him even more pain by settling on the bed.  He reached out pressed one hand to the uninjured side of Charles’ face, running his fingers gently across Charles’ skin.  He took in Charles’ condition, somehow made much worse here in the sterile, well-lit room of the hospital than it had been in the dark, dank warehouse.  Now that Charles had been cleaned up, it was easy to see just how much damage had been done.

And all of it was because of Erik, because Erik had failed to keep the promise he had made to Charles the first time he had seen the scars that had started all of this.

“I’m sorry,” Erik whispered as he continued to stroke Charles’ face.  “I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice choked.

He let his head fall forward, letting the bedspread muffle the sounds of the sobs that had begun to force themselves out of him.

“Shh,” a familiar voice crooned weakly above him as familiar fingers carded their way through his hair.

Erik jerked upright, regretting the sudden motion immediately as he saw Charles’ wince.

“Charles,” Erik said through a throat that was far too tight.

He gave Erik a smile, a mirror image to the one he had offered in the warehouse when Erik had first appeared.  It was far more reassuring now that it was no longer stained red.  His fingers (and Erik once again spared a moment to be thankful that they were all still attached and whole) reached out and wiped away one of the tears working its way down Erik’s cheek.

Erik reached up and placed his own hand over Charles’, clasping it against his face.  He took a deep breath, fighting to get himself back under control.

“How are you feeling?” he asked when he felt he had mostly succeeded.

Charles opened his mouth to say something, but Erik shot him a glare and he closed his mouth, glib answer left unsaid.  Instead his face turned considering.  “Sore and achy.  And my head feels like it’s about to be split in two.  But I feel clean, which is an improvement, and much less shaky.  So, much better.  And very glad of the company,” he said, pulling his hand out from Erik’s own. Erik only had a moment to mourn the loss before Charles cool fingers (too cool, even for Charles, Erik registered with a pang) were back in his hair, stroking through it soothingly.

“The doctor says you’re going to be fine,” Erik said, somehow hoping that if he said it emphatically enough he could force it to be true.  It was true, he corrected himself.  There was no other option.  “But he wants to keep you here at least twenty-four hours for observation.”

“And why are you telling me this and not him?” Charles asked.

“He’s busy at the moment,” Erik offered simply.

“What with?” Charles asked, brow arching.  “Knowing both you and my father, I can’t imagine either of you would be content with anything less the doctor’s individual, undivided attention.”

Erik had a mental stumble of sorts at the word “father” until he realized that Charles meant Shaw.  That was still a little too surreal for him to think about for any extended period of time, so he set it aside for further consideration later.

“He’s running an errand for me,” Erik said simply.

“What sort of errand?” Charles asked him, eyes suspicious as the fingers in Erik’s hair froze.

“Nothing illegal,” Erik reassured him.

Charles gave Erik’s hair a sharp tug that pulled at his scalp.  “That’s not an answer, Erik.”

“I asked him to compile a report telling me how all those injuries were created,” Erik said.

“Erik…” Charles said warningly.

“I need to know,” Erik said, impressed that he his voice was steady.  “I need to know what happened to you, what you suffered because I couldn’t protect you, because I couldn’t keep my promise…” Erik took a deep shuddering breath.  “I need to know.  And I won’t have you protecting me from the consequences of my failure.”

“Oh Erik,” Charles said, eyes going wide before his entire expression softened into something almost unbearably fond.  “Come here,” he said, gesturing Erik up onto the bed.

Erik pulled back, horrified.  “I’ll hurt you.”

“Nonsense,” Charles said.  “I’m on some wonderful painkillers at the moment.  Besides, at this point I’m not sure there isn’t much that wouldn’t hurt me, to be honest.  And I’d much rather be hurt and wrapped in your arms than hurt and feeling all alone.”  His smile grew strained.  “I have rather enough experience with that already.”

With the tattered remains of his self-control, Erik just barely managed to check the impulse to shed his shoes and jacket and crawl into bed with Charles.  Any other day, under any other circumstances, he would have been unable to resist.  As it was, it was only his concern for Charles and his welfare that checked Erik’s ever-present desire to make Charles happy.  Still, he couldn’t let a plea like that go completely unaddressed.

He stood, then took a few steps forward and placed his hand against Charles’ uninjured cheek again before pressing his lips tenderly to Charles’ forehead, trying to convey everything he knew he’d never have the words to say.

“Zaubermaus,” he said when he pulled back, reaching up to brush what hair remained peeking out from under Charles’ bandages, “Oh, zaubermaus.  As much as I love holding you, I love _you_ far, far too much to risk hurting you for the chance to do so.”

Charles’ heavy sigh in response to that proclamation had Erik chuckling.  “Can I at least get a proper kiss?” he asked plaintively.

“Not until your nose heals,” Erik told him gently.

Charles pouted, and Erik’s chest twisted.

“Just…I know it goes against everything in you, but please… _please_ …let me take care of you,” Erik whispered as he pressed his forehead against Charles’ own.  “Just this once, Charles.  Please.”

“Alright love,” Charles said, his hand reaching up to cup Erik’s face in turn.  “Alright.”

There was the sound of the door slowly clicking open, and Erik spun, tearing himself out of Charles’ grasp as his hand flew to his gun, bringing it to bear on the figure in the doorway.  When he saw that it was Shaw standing in the doorway, he by no means relaxed, and it was a long, tense moment before he could bring himself to lower the gun.  The intense look Shaw was fixing him with didn’t help matters any.

Shaw stalked through the room, brushing by Erik in order to situate himself at Charles’ side.  Erik took three deep breaths as he put his gun away once again to prevent himself from doing something regrettable.  When he turned around, Shaw had taken up his position at the head of Charles’ bed and was…well, _fussing_ over him, demanding updates his health and to know how Charles was feeling and Charles was placating him with a very put upon air.

“Lehnsherr,” Shaw said as he straightened, apparently satisfied with Charles’ report, at least for the moment.  He pressed a file against Erik’s chest with far more force than was necessary.  “I met a doctor out in the hall. He was very eager for you to have this file.”

Erik grabbed it off his chest and went to open it eagerly.  He had just begun to read the first page when several things clicked into place for him.  Shaw was here.  Shaw being here could only mean one thing.

“Shall we step into the hall?” Erik asked, blood rushing through his veins.

Shaw nodded, and followed Erik out the door and into the hall just outside Charles’ room, where they could both see Charles through the glass in his door.

“You found him?” Erik hissed out desperately.

“Yes.  Found and contained him,” Shaw’s eyes sparkled in a way that suggested he’d done more than that with Kurt Marko in the intervening hours.  “I have an address for you.  I’ll keep an eye on Charles while you’re out.  We can take shifts.”

Tempting.  So very, very tempting.  Marko deserved to suffer and to suffer as long as possible.

“No,” Erik said, shaking his head slowly.  “I…I don’t have the self-control.  Marko deserves to suffer.  Marko needs to be made an example of.  Marko needs to pay for everything he ever did to Charles.  But I…have a temper.  And I’m afraid if I was actually in the same room as him…” Erik’s fists clenched at the very thought, heedless of the report he still held in his hands.  With a deep breath, he passed it over to Shaw.  “His new injuries and how the doctor thinks they were inflicted.  I trust you’ll make good use of this.”

Shaw studied Erik for a long moment before taking the file with a nod.  “You’ll look after Charles then?”

“Always,” Erik responded.

Erik and Shaw returned to Charles bedside, Shaw bidding Charles a farewell with a promise that he’d visit him once he was out of the hospital.  Erik and Shaw exchanged one last meaningful look and a nod before Shaw walked through the door.

Charles stared at Erik intently while he pulled a chair up to his bedside.

“I thought you would be leaving,” Charles said, expression far too knowing.  “That you might have some… _business_ to attend to.”

Erik reached out and took his hand.  “There’s no business more important that what I’m doing right now,” he said simply.  “I’m exactly where I belong.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

There was a knock on the door, and before Charles had the chance to do much more than push his chair back and attempt to rise to his feet, there was a familiar large, long-fingered hand on his shoulder pressing him gently but firmly back down.

“I’ll get it.  You stay here.”

Charles rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to protest, only to close it again slowly at the expression on Erik’s face, set into stubborn, immovable lines that Charles had become far more familiar with than he would have liked these past three months during his recovery.  There was no way he would be answering that door, Erik’s face said   He sighed.

Erik, apparently satisfied that Charles was going to stay seated, lifted his hand from Charles’ shoulder and made his way over to the door, hand disappearing under his jacket, a gun held in a familiar grip as it reemerged.

“Oh, really now, Erik.  Is that entirely necessary?” Charles groused as the man turned to peer through the peep hole.

Erik turned and shot him another look, a variation of the first, but Charles refused to budge this time.  He crossed his arms and stared at Erik with a cocked brow.  Erik turned his back to him, gun still in hand and his entire posture stiffened as he saw who was on the other side.

“Yes,” Erik gritted out through clenched teeth, “it is entirely necessary.”

The fact that he was undoing the security chain and the numerous bolts that had appeared while Charles was still confined to bed regardless told Charles exactly who was on the other side of the door, and he perked up.

Sebastian stood in the doorway, cutting a glare at Erik before catching sight of Charles.  He face warmed into an expression of genuine affection and, ignoring Charles’ glowering significant other entirely, he crossed the room and stood at Charles’ side.

“Charles,” he said warmly, reaching out a hand to ruffle his hair affectionately as he always did.

Charles made to stand up to embrace him, but once again a hand on his shoulder and a look kept him firmly in place.

“For God’s sake you two!” Charles snapped, “I’m not an invalid.”

Erik, at least, had the decency to look slightly abashed.  Sebastian did nothing of the sort.

"Charles," Sebastian said in that calm, reasonable tone that only served to rile Charles up further when he was in this state, "you're still recovering."

"I've been given a clean bill of health on nearly every front."

"The key word there," Erik shot back as he crossed the room back to the table where Charles and his father now sat, "is 'nearly'.  Your leg is still giving you problems, and you're still in PT.  I don't want you pushing yourself too hard too fast."

Charles huffed out a breath and counted backwards from five to keep from shouting.  His entire convalesce, he felt, had been an exercise in patience, and he was nearly out.

"There's a difference between pushing myself too hard too fast and not being allowed to do anything at all.  I won't recover if I'm babied at all times."

"Indulge me," Sebastian said simply, sinking down into the chair beside Charles at the table.

"I have done nothing but indulge the two of you for the past three months," Charles said through gritted teeth.

Charles looked at both their expressions at the reminder and couldn't help but soften, anger slowly deflating like a punctured balloon.  For all he had suffered during his abduction, it was clear that the impact of his kidnapping was still very present for the two of them.

"I am fine," he told them both gently.  "And if we keep going on as if it just happened, how can we ever be expected to move past it?  You two need to let this go," he told them.

_Because if you don’t,_ he couldn’t help thinking, _how am I ever supposed to?  How am I supposed to find a way to process this for myself if I have to spend my entire time helping you deal with the aftermath of_ my _abduction?_

Either his words had more of an impact than he was expecting or his face showed more of his thoughts than he thought it would, for a strained silence fell over the table as Erik and Sebastian studied him, so dissimilar and yet so alike at the same time.

A second knock on the door broke the tense silence, and Erik's expression visibly brightened, but then he shot Sebastian a dark look.  "I still think this is a terrible idea," he whispered in Charles' ear as he passed him on the way to answer the door.

Charles rolled his eyes.  He'd already won this argument, and he wasn't about to rehash it here, in front of his father.

"Go let your mother in," he ordered, "and help her with the obscene amounts of food I'm sure she's brought with her."

"Sir yes sir," Erik said smartly before pressing a kiss to Charles' temple and sweeping out of the room towards the door, not missing the opportunity to shoot one last glare at Sebastian as he did so.

Charles felt the fond smile on his face as he turned back to face his father, though he was sure it was quickly replaced by one of confusion as he met Sebastian’s considering gaze.

“I was worried at first, you know,” Sebastian began in a conversational tone, but his eyes belied his tone, and Charles watched and listened with rapt attention.  “About him and you.  At first I thought that despite my best efforts he’d somehow learned about our relationship, and that he was going to use you as leverage to try and manipulate me.”

Charles snorted.  He really couldn’t help himself.  Sebastian’s lips quirked.

“He had rather the same reaction when I mentioned it to him.”

“When?” Charles asked, confused, for all that he was reluctant to interrupt the flow of whatever it was Sebastian was working his way around to saying.  But he didn’t recall Erik and his father ever having a conversation of this nature.

“When he offered me an olive branch of sorts,” Sebastian answered in the tone he reserved for talking around business matters at the dinner table.  “Why didn’t you ever tell me?” he asked after a beat of silence.

Charles let out a short humorless laugh.  Of  course.  He should have known. Marko’s comments during his abduction suddenly were much less paranoid and a lot more comprehensible.  And where else could Erik and Sebastian have found common ground.

“He told you,” Charles said, letting out another huff of air.  “Of course he told you.”

He rubbed at his mouth as was his habit.

“I didn’t tell you,” he said after taking a moment to gather himself, “because I didn’t want you to know.”

There was a flash of hurt in Sebastian’s eyes, but it was soon replaced by righteous anger and he reached out to take Charles’ hand.  “This should have been yours to share or not as you saw fit.  And I think I know you well enough to understand a good deal of the reasoning behind it,” he squeezed Charles’ hand reassuringly.  “And clearly this was not the way I should have approached this topic.  What I intended to say was this.  Charles,” and Charles met his eyes at that tone of voice, and they were warm and compassionate, “you have _nothing_ to be ashamed of.  In _any_ of this.  Do you understand?”

Charles nodded, throat suddenly feeling tight.

Sebastian tugged him forward into a hug, made awkward by their seating arrangement, but no less warm or reassuring because of it.  Charles pulled away before his control could begin to fray, but the contact had been what he needed.

Sebastian cleared his throat as he settled back in his seat.  “Now, where were we before we got side-tracked?”

“You were saying something ridiculous about thinking Erik was with me to only as a way to manipulate you.”

“Yes well…he soon changed my mind on that front.  But only on that front,” Sebastian said, meeting his gaze.  “I was still worried.  Lehnsherr is a dangerous man, Charles.  A very dangerous man.”

Charles shot his father a pointed look.

“I have no problem being a hypocrite when it comes to you and your safety, Charles.  And even within our profession, Lehnsherr is considered volatile and violent.”  Sebastian sighed heavily.  “I wasn’t disappointed when you told me you wanted no part in what I did.  On the contrary, I was proud.  You deserve better than this, Charles.  You going to school in Oxford was difficult for me, you know that.  Having you beyond my protection.  But to see you rise up and stand on your own merits, pursuing what you wanted free from my influence…I was so proud.  And to think that after all that, you would be dragged right back into the world we both fought so hard to keep you out of.  And for a man like _Lehnsherr_ , well…”

“What,” Charles said very slowly, hands clenched in the fabric of his trousers, “are you trying to say?”

“I was concerned about you being with a man I knew had a short temper and violent tendencies,” Sebastian said, his tone matter of fact.  “His behavior during our interactions, especially during our efforts to recover you, only served to heighten my concern.”

Charles felt something clench itself tight in his gut even as he sat up straighter, squaring his shoulders as he prepared to defend not just Erik, but his ability to make his own choices and the amount of control and an unsolicited input from Sebastian could expect to have in those decisions.

Some of this must have showed on his face, because Sebastian held up a hand, as he so often had when Charles was a child and bursting with questions about something that had just been said but when Sebastian hadn't finished saying what he felt needed to be said, and so he would make Charles wait to voice them.

"I _was_ concerned," he said, putting a very particular emphasis on the past tense.  "Until I saw him with you.  When we found you, during your recovery...he has not been the man I know, nor the man I thought him to be.  And the man he is with you...I can live with the man he is with you."

Charles reached forward and hugged his father again, letting out a relieved laugh as he did.

"I'm not sure I can," he confessed when he pulled away.  "He's been driving me up the wall for the last three months."

"The feeling," Erik's muffled voice said from the doorway, his face obscured by the mountains of food in his arms, "is entirely mutual."

There was the muffled thwack that Charles knew all too well at this point, accompanied by a half-hearted protest of pain.  Charles grinned and stood, ignoring the glares of both his father and his spouse as he did so, and crossed over to the entryway just as Edie made her way into the house.

"Edie!" Charles said, a delighted smile working its way over his face, wide enough to make his cheeks hurt.

"Charles mein shatz!" she crowed back, wrapping him a firm hug as soon as he was in range.  She pulled back and placed a kiss on each cheek before pulling him into an embrace once again.  It was nice, Charles confessed to himself as he wrapped his arms around her in turn, not to be treated like something fragile.

"How are you?" she asked him seriously.  "Good?"

He nodded and smiled at her.

“Good,” she said decisively with a smile and nod.

There was the sound of footsteps behind him, and Charles pulled out of her embrace to do his duty as host.

“Edie,” he said, “this is Sebastian Shaw, my stepfather.  Sebastian, this is Edie Lehnsherr, Erik’s mother.”

“Mrs. Lehnsherr,” Sebastian said with his most charming grin, reaching out to take Edie’s hand a press a kiss to the back of her hand.  Charles had to fight the urge to smile and roll his eyes simultaneously.  Still, he was glad his father was making an effort.  “It’s so lovely to see you again.  I know the circumstances of our first meeting were far from auspicious but I'm glad to see you again.  And I would like to apologize for my conduct at the time.  I'd be grateful if you would give me the chance to make up for my behavior today."

Charles stared at them in confusion.  Erik's mother had already met his father?  When had this happened?

"Nonsense," said Edie, waving him off.  "What's done is done.  It was all a misunderstanding.  I'm sure nothing of the sort will happen again," she said, eyes suddenly hard.

Sebastian blinked, and Charles gawked.  Erik, who had snuck up behind Charles when he wasn't paying attention and flung an arm over his shoulder, smirked.

"Of course not.  As you said, it was a misunderstanding to begin with.  Besides," he said, and his gaze slid over to where Charles and Erik stood, and Charles rolled his eyes as he felt Erik stiffen beside him, "We're practically family now."

Edie grinned, that hardness fading from her eyes to be replaced with the warmth Charles was more familiar with.  "Exactly.  And I'd like to apologize for my son's behavior at the time.  He can be slightly overprotective."

"The bullet didn't hit anything vital," Sebastian said soothingly.

"What," Charles said.

"When Erik shot me," Sebastian elaborated, a cat’s grin on his face.  "You remember, Charles.  I was at home for a while I recovered."

Charles pulled himself out from under Erik's arm before he shoved him hard.  "You shot my father?"

“This was years ago,” Erik began gently, but seeing this wouldn’t work, he quickly changed tactics and glared at Sebastian, stabbing a finger violently in his direction.  “He pulled a gun on my mother!" Erik defended himself.

Charles rounded back on his father.  "You pulled a gun on Edie?" he shouted.

"It was a misunderstanding," Sebastian placated him.

" _Guns and gunshot wounds are not misunderstandings_!" Charles shouted.  "I can't _believe_ you two!"

"Zaubermaus," Erik began cautiously, reaching out for Charles, but Charles ignored him.

"No.  Go sit down.  Both of you," Charles said glaring at them.  "Find a way to tolerate being in each other's presence that doesn't involve violence.  Can I trust you to do that?”

The way they were currently eyeing each other suggested otherwise, but they did nod under his glare.  Pinching his nose between two fingers, he took a deep breath to try and compose himself before remembering he was playing the host.

“I’m sorry about that, Edie,” he said sheepishly.

She patted him lightly on the back.  “Don’t be too hard on them.  It’s in the past.  I saw Erik in the street talking to someone and went to go say hello.  I interrupted a business meeting, though I didn’t know it.  Mr. Shaw was surprised and reacted accordingly.  Erik saw someone with a gun aimed at his mother and did the same.”

Charles sighed.  “That _seems_ innocent enough.”  He paused, considered what he had said, and laughed.  “For a certain definition of innocent, that is.”

Edie laughed as well.  “Go sit down while I get things on the table,” she said, shooing him in the direction of the dining room.

“Edie, no!  You’re a guest, you shouldn’t…”

“You shouldn’t be on that leg for too long without a cane, and if you think Erik hasn’t told me as much, you’re not as smart as your many doctorates would suggest.”

“Not you too,” Charles moaned.

“Yes me too,” she said, staring at him steadily.  “I take care of my boys, especially when they don’t take care of themselves.  Now, go sit.  Send someone in to help me if you feel that strongly about me plating my own food the way it was meant to be plated.”

Dinner was…well, it was fun.  Much more fun that Charles had been expecting.  There was the occasional moment of awkwardness and Erik and Sebastian still frequently looked as if they wanted to leap across the table and stab one another, but the awkward moments passed and no one drew any weapons, so Charles was prepared to call it a win.

They adjourned to the living room where, to Charles’ immense embarrassment, he nodded off against Erik’s chest.  When he woke, their guests had left and Erik was staring down at him with an expression of incredible fondness on his face.

On a whim, Charles reached out one-handed and grabbed Erik’s camera from where it sat on the table, pulling away only far enough to get the shot right, pressing his finger down and listening to the shutter click.

Erik reached out and tugged the camera away, putting it back on the table before pulling Charles into a kiss that started chaste but soon morphed into something with far more heat.

“What was that for?” he asked when he pulled away.

“I wanted to remember,” Charles said simply.

“Remember what?”

Charles thought back to the meal from earlier, the exasperation and the awkwardness but most of all the settled, safe feeling that could only come from being surrounded by family.

He smiled at Erik and pulled him into another kiss before answering.

“The beginning.”

 


End file.
